Taking a Journey Together
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: Dom Kurt, living in New York, with his boyfriend/sub Blaine. This is their story of learning how to live as Dom and sub together - their ups and downs, their successes and their failures. This is a series I have been writing which is a more accurate and realistic portrayal of a couple living a D/s lifestyle. Installments will be posted here from now on. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.
1. Punishment - Caning

**Kurt has many different rules for Blaine to follow…and many different methods of punishment for when his sub breaks those rules. In Kurt's opinion, caning is one of the worst. That's why he reserves it for multiple or severe infractions. When Kurt finds out that Blaine's been breaking his rules and not taking care of his health, he feel he has no other choice.**

 **In this installment, I try to tackle the many different aspects of impact as punishment. I try to delve into both participants POV, try to give an accurate portrayal of the experience, the whys and the hows caning is done the way it's done. I also try to show something that I feel is lacking in a lot of portrayals of impact for punishment in D/s relationships, which is that impact isn't always play, and that in a power exchange, Doms don't particularly enjoy punishing their subs, because even though correction is a sign of love, it's also a consequence for bad behavior. I can go into a deeper explanation here in the notes, but I think I do a better job in the actual story so, you can read it there.**

 **Warning for caning, angst, pain, mention of bruises, minor mention of blood, humiliation.**

 **Written as part of my more realistic D/s relationship story line - Taking a Journey Together D/s series. This is part 22 in this series. Previous installments, which can be found under my story list, are as follows:**

 **Sudden**  
 **Safeword**  
 **Hold You**  
 **Seeing Red**  
 **Spanking**  
 **Speaking Up**  
 **Self-flagellation**  
 **Reset**  
 **Seduction**  
 **Barriers**  
 **Understanding**  
 **Guidance**  
 **May I?**  
 **Exhaustion**  
 **In Public**  
 **On Demand**  
 **Marks**  
 **Useful**  
 **Restraint**  
 **Underneath**

 **The Little Things**

 **They will be posted to this collection from now on to make them easier to find :)**

Kurt watches, building up a layer of cold and detached, as Blaine undoes the buckle to his belt, unbuttons his pants, then pulls them down to his knees.

"Further," Kurt commands. A visibly shaken Blaine obeys, pushing his slacks down until they reach his ankles.

"Now the briefs." Kurt fiddles with the long, willowy strip of rattan in his hands as Blaine grabs the waistband of his maroon briefs and shoves those down as well, to his ankles, so his Dom doesn't have to tell him twice.

"Now tell me, pet" – Kurt begins to walk in a slow circle, observing his sub front and back to ensure that he's comporting himself appropriately: head bowed, eyes down, hands hanging loose at his sides – "why are you being punished?"

"Because, Sir, I…" Blaine pauses briefly to calm his shaking voice. "I didn't obey the rules, Sir."

"A-ha, and what rules didn't you obey?"

"I…I didn't eat when I was supposed to, Sir," Blaine says, talking quickly, mostly out of shame. "And when I did, I didn't eat what I was supposed to, and…"

"And…?"

"And I stayed up past lights out without permission…Sir."

Blaine sniffles, and Kurt's heart aches, but he can't fold. He set up this system of rules and discipline. It's the structure that Blaine has lived by since before they moved in together. It has helped Blaine overcome his scheduling anxieties, his organizational issues. It's a reminder to keep himself healthy. Kurt can't cave, even if the sound of his sub sniffling breaks his heart. Kurt needs to harden himself against his sub's reactions by reminding himself that it's for Blaine's own good. Blaine is a big boy. He knew the rules, and he broke them. Now he has to be punished.

It's as simple as that.

Kurt doesn't launch into punishment right away, hence the questions. He has to know that Blaine understands _why_ he's doing this, but there's another reason for the delay. Being caned is awful, no doubt about it, which is why it's Kurt's chosen method of punishment for repeated infractions such as these. Caning and rice kneeling, in Kurt's opinion, are two of the worst. He's seen Blaine's response to them. Kurt knows he despises them, too. But the waiting is torture. Drawing out the inevitable. The anticipation. The hope that Kurt might change his mind and pick something lesser. With every answer to Kurt's questions, Blaine stutters. His voice sounds less sure. His brave front begins to crack.

"Go get your chair, pet," Kurt says. This last step proof that Kurt has no intention of changing his mind, Blaine complies, shuffling across the room with pants around his ankles to fetch his straight-back wooden chair and bring it over to his Dom. Blaine knows what to do with it. He sets it within a few feet of where Kurt stands, then bends over at the waist and leans his forearms on the seat. He locks his legs at the knees.

Then he waits.

Just a little longer, a few more moments of preparation, and it'll be time. Like creating the perfect soufflé, Kurt has to give Blaine's anxiety levels time to rise.

Blaine's shoulders tremble. His face flushes with blood rushing to his head. He looks about ready to pass out, and still Kurt waits, counting the seconds that pass with a smack of his cane in the palm of his hand, every slap causing Blaine to flinch.

It's when Blaine stops flinching at the sound of the cane that Kurt decides he's ready to begin.

Kurt rolls the hem of Blaine's button down halfway up his back. He brings the cane to Blaine's backside and taps it, suggesting that the first hit _might_ be there. Then he moves it down to Blaine's thighs, since the first strike _could_ be there. He moves it again, to the bend of Blaine's knees, to his calves, then makes the return trip back to his ass. Finally, he pulls the cane off Blaine's skin completely, and his sub, bent over with his forehead resting on the backs of his hands, holds his breath.

The first hit is light, the cane whistling through the air, but not much of a crack on impact. But Kurt knows it stings. He sees the shudder in Blaine's body when the cane strikes his skin, hears Blaine suck in the breath he's been holding. Kurt aims for the fattiest parts of Blaine's ass – if there is any, which there is, but not much. Blaine's body is mostly muscle, and his ass is pretty tough. Blaine knows how to take a hit from time spent in numerous stage combat classes. He's also athletic – basketball, football, boxing, fencing. Kurt knows that the areas he's focusing on smart, but not enough to get his point across.

Kurt is just warming him up.

Ideally, if Kurt really wants this to hurt, he should have Blaine lie on his back with his legs in the air, tightening the skin to its limits, exposing more sensitive areas, the weight of his limbs constricting his breathing. He'll choose that position for spanking almost every time, but Kurt prefers caning Blaine standing up. He doesn't want Blaine comfortable, not one little bit. He doesn't want to risk the chance that his sub will find a way into sub space, though, at the mercy of Kurt's cane, that's highly improbable. He wants to force Blaine to stay standing, wants him to experience everything this cane does to him with as much physical strain and discomfort as possible. He wants Blaine unsettled, at constant odds with his balance and his pain threshold.

Kurt wants to force Blaine to stand, even when the pain tries to bring him to his knees.

If he drops to his knees, they start over. If he moves the chair, they start over. If he falls to the floor, they start over.

Kurt doesn't like repeating himself, so this is the best way for Blaine to learn. He'll remember the next time he wants to break the rules - especially one as important as eating the right foods on time - what happens to bad little pets.

Kurt strikes Blaine's buttocks a couple more times, until Blaine starts shuffling his feet, then Kurt moves down to the skin below his ass, right above his thighs. This thin strip, the most delicate on Blaine's body by far, Kurt tends to punish ruthlessly.

"Gu-uh!" Blaine groans, the exclamation forced through his lips beyond his control, almost becoming an immediate sob. All of Kurt's blows hurt, but this one in particular burns like lightening, cutting through his skin and straight to the bone. But he doesn't move. Discipline. Discipline and obedience kick in to prevent him from disobeying any more rules. But _God_ , is it hard. Another hit, and his body begs to retreat, but Blaine forces himself to stay, to not hop out of the way to avoid the next hit. Each one after the first will hurt incrementally more than the last, and Blaine can do nothing to relieve the agony. That's why Kurt makes him keep his pants around his ankles. This way he can't kick his feet, can't adjust his position as a way to ease the pain. Kurt doesn't tolerate Blaine moving when he's being caned. No moving, no dancing, and barely any sound. No talking (except for their safeword) and positively no begging.

Begging comes with a five lash penalty.

Kurt has marks on the floor for Blaine – small pieces of masking tape in the form of an 'x' that tells his sub where to place his chair, a habit born from years on the stage. It also lets Kurt know if Blaine's chair has moved after a caning. Even an inch can mean the difference between moving on, or starting over.

Kurt moves his cane from that space below Blaine's ass to his thighs, striking swiftly, and Blaine's knees wobble. Another blow, right above the knees with the edge towards the very tip of the can, and Blaine almost drops to the floor entirely. Blaine's no lightweight, that's for certain, and Kurt appreciates that. He enjoys that stamina. He likes to mark Blaine up. On Blaine's thighs, down toward his knees, on those more sensitive areas of skin, Blaine welts up really nicely – thin, red stripes springing up with every snap.

Kurt doesn't make Blaine count them off, nor does he give Blaine a definite number of strikes to look forward to. He'd rather keep Blaine guessing. At one point, he asks, "So, how many do you think that is, pet? Twenty lashes? Thirty?"

When Blaine doesn't answer right away, Kurt swats him again, on a cluster of stripes already welling with blood.

"Uh…I…I don't know, Sir," Blaine answers, voice breaking.

"You don't know, huh?" Kurt says, accompanied by a strike to the thighs. " _I_ think it's twenty. Do you think that's enough, pet? Do you think twenty is a good number to learn your lesson?"

This question is a trap. There is no right answer. There's no _good_ answer either. The only acceptable answer Blaine can give so as not to infuriate his Dom is, "You know best, Sir."

"I do?" Kurt comes back with a snap of his cane, underneath Blaine's ass. "Well, then, if I know best, maybe you should have listened to me in the first place!"

Kurt sounds livid, and that tone in his voice makes Blaine wither, but Kurt's not angry. He's not taking anger out on Blaine. He's disappointed, and to a degree, he's hurt. When Blaine doesn't follow the rules, it hurts Kurt's feelings, and it wounds Kurt's pride. Because if he was a good Dom, Blaine would follow his rules without question. Breaking them would be unthinkable.

Seeing Blaine bent over, a quivering mess of bruises and humiliation, it's not difficult to remember that Blaine is only human, and humans make mistakes. And that's what he did by breaking the rules. He made a mistake.

It's remembering that _Kurt_ is only human, too, that often times rankles Kurt's nerves.

Traditionally, a military caning consists of twenty-four lashes. Kurt gives Blaine thirty. It's more than he needs to get his point across. By the time he's done, the majority of Blaine's ass and a good portion of his thighs are swollen, several closely grouped cuts are beginning to ooze, and his knees, which he's locked together, closing the gap in his legs, refuse to stop shaking. Surprisingly though, throughout the struggle in Blaine's body to keep upright, his chair hasn't moved (as far as Kurt can tell), and Kurt is impressed.

"Alright," Kurt says, stepping back and tossing the cane on the bed so he's not tempted to use it just one more time. "You're done, pet. You can go to your corner."

"Y-yes, S-sir," Blaine whimpers. "Th-thank you, Sir."

Kurt keeps a close watch on Blaine, for signs that he might drop, or that he could be more hurt than he's letting on. Blaine has a bad habit of trying to play the tough guy, but Kurt has gotten to a point where he can see through that act.

Blaine bends to raise his trousers, but Kurt snaps his fingers, and Blaine pops upright.

"Keep 'em down," Kurt says.

"Yes, Sir." Blaine's words don't shake as much as they did before this began, but there's a new heaviness to them now, a thickening that comes before tears. Kurt is waiting for them. They need to come so that Blaine can get over being punished and move on.

Kurt watches his pet return his chair to its original spot, then waddle off to the corner with his pants around his ankles, and he quietly sighs. Kurt knows it's necessary, but he doesn't like punishing Blaine – Blaine, who tries so hard; Blaine, who's so devoted; Blaine, who's under so much stress at times that it makes him sick to his stomach. Hence the rules. They're not whims. Kurt's rules about Blaine's sleeping habits and his diet are in place to keep Blaine from neglecting his health. He gives too much of himself to his job, especially when they don't appreciate him, don't see his worth the way Kurt does. These rules, and Kurt being around to enforce them, takes one thing off of Blaine's plate, so he can focus on defeating other triggers that cause him unnecessary anxiety.

"You get ten minutes of corner time, pet, and then we'll talk." Kurt goes to the kitchen and grabs Blaine's ladybug timer. He turns the bright red bug until its antenna falls on the number ten, and sets it on the kitchen table.

"Y-yes, Sir. Th-thank you, Sir." Blaine crumbles, shoulders shaking, sobs threatening, but Blaine fights to choke them down. It takes all the strength Kurt has not to react, not to walk over and put his arms around him, not to give him comfort. He will, of course, eventually. Just not right now. Standing in the corner is part of Blaine's punishment, and Kurt needs to make him do it. He needs to be consistent. Subs need consistency, but Blaine's requirements for stringency go far above and beyond anyone Kurt has ever met.

Kurt busies himself with random bullshit – sorting mail, clearing expired items from the fridge, attacking a caramelized sugar stain on the stovetop, anything that keeps him lingering close by. The second the timer goes off, Kurt steps up behind Blaine and puts his arms around him, keeping a distance from his sub's sore behind.

"Now," Kurt says, "is there something you would like to say?"

"I'm…I'm sorry, Sir," Blaine says. "I'm sorry for disobeying you. I'm sorry for breaking your rules."

"Do you remember why we have those rules, pet?"

Blaine nods. "To keep me healthy, Sir."

"That's right. And why do I want to keep you healthy?"

"Because…because you love me, Sir."

"Yes, Blaine." Kurt bends down and carefully pulls up Blaine's pants. "Because I love you. And you trust me to take care of you, don't you?"

It's not a question. Kurt knows that Blaine trusts him. He wants Blaine to say it out loud, as a reminder to both of them as to why they're in this relationship together.

"Yes, Sir. I trust you to take care of me."

"Good." Kurt takes Blaine's hand and leads him slowly through the living room to Kurt's favorite chair. Kurt sits first, then pulls Blaine gently onto his lap.

There will be time for baths and soothing lotions in a minute. For now, there's something Blaine needs first.

Kurt guides Blaine's head to rest on his shoulder, and hugs him. The moment Blaine's temple touches Kurt's shirt, he begins to sob.

"There, there," Kurt says. "It's alright. It's all over and done with, pet. Go ahead and cry."

"I'm sorry," Blaine says, repeating the words over and over in case Kurt doesn't believe him. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have listened."

"You're right," Kurt says, running his fingers through Blaine's hair. "You should have. Just…don't let it happen again. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you."


	2. Kneeling

**Blaine comes home late one night to find his Dom kneeling on rice in the corner, and for the life of him, he doesn't understand why.**

 **(Okay, just as a note, there are a lot of things going on here that I thought you guys would like to read. First of all, we have Kurt's unorthodox way of working through his own personal pain as a masochist. This shows Kurt using something we usually characterized as a submissive behavior in a dominant way. Then there's a moment of anxiety on Blaine's part, since this behavior of Kurt's is new and catches him off guard. Since he has no frame of reference for it, he experiences some minor doubts. It also illustrates facets of their relationship - how Kurt deals with discipline, how his compulsive need for structure colors the things in his life, but also how he feels about Blaine. It also shows how observant Blaine is about Kurt. We always focus on the Dom being cognizant of the sub, but rarely the other way around. Blaine needs Kurt's guidance, but he isn't a mindless sheep. The two of them are lovers, he knows Kurt. Warning for light masochism in the form of rice kneeling, angst, anxiety, and an obscure mention of Finn.)**

There are things about being a dominant that Blaine doesn't understand. And that's fine. He figures that he's not meant to understand them. He has his "dominant" moments. He can effectively command a room when he needs to. He's always considered himself a master of the stage. He can inspire people through speech. He's a decent leader, but he's not a _dominant_ – not the way that Kurt is. With Kurt, dominance simply seems to flow through his body. He doesn't always have to speak to persuade others to follow him. Blaine has seen men and women at Vogue who could be described on the surface as 'dominant personalities' bend to Kurt's will the moment he enters a room. He has an aura of dominance about him. It's just who he is.

Blaine can't even picture Kurt submitting to anyone – bowing, kneeling, putting himself on display or offering himself up for someone else's use. It would be like watching the sun rise green in the morning.

But Kurt is also a masochist, and that is something that's taken Blaine a while to wrap his mind around. Watching his Master flog himself, commanding Blaine to spank him or paddle him, whip him with electrical cords, or pull his hair, knowing that Kurt enjoys it, conflicts Blaine. He knows it's not the same. It's not the same as being a submissive. What Kurt does, he does for pleasure, or to exert control but over himself. And any participation that Blaine takes in these acts are, as always, a submissive doing what his Master orders him to do.

Even if it makes Blaine a little uncomfortable. But it's not even a level _yellow_ uncomfortable. Blaine is _green_ with it, as long as it makes Kurt happy. Blaine doesn't question it, even when he has a hundred of them whirling through his head, itching to be asked. If there's something that he needs to know, Kurt will tell him.

But when Blaine comes home from rehearsal one night to find his Dom stripped down to his briefs, kneeling on rice in the far corner of their bedroom, staring blankly out the window, Blaine isn't just confused. He's completely confounded.

Blaine despises rice kneeling. Along with caning, it's one of the worst punishments Kurt keeps in his arsenal. He only breaks it out for truly inexcusable infractions. Considering the strain that rice kneeling puts on Blaine's knees, and Blaine's need to keep his body in top physical condition, rice kneeling is not a punishment that either Dom or sub takes lightly. It's certainly not something that Blaine would ever request. But there Kurt is, head held high, back straight and strong, kneeling on rice on the hard wood floor, and for the life of him, Blaine can't imagine why. But he's certain that Kurt will tell him if he wants to.

Blaine walks into the loft, removing his shoes immediately to keep his footsteps silent. At this point, Blaine would start doing chores, but he doesn't want to disturb his Master. Blaine needs guidance, but with Kurt kneeling in the corner, obviously in the midst of his own personal session, Blaine doesn't know where to get that guidance from. This is a new situation for him. They haven't prepared for it. Kurt is a stickler for planning, preparation, schedules, so this rice kneeling has Blaine worried.

If Kurt is straying from the norm this way, there has to be something seriously wrong.

Blaine feels a twinge of panic ball inside his stomach, his breathing coming fast as he tries to think through their usual rules, their daily schedule, trying to figure out what he should do. His instincts tell him to do his chores as normal, but sometimes he feels his instincts aren't always the best.

That's why he has Kurt to take care of him. He removes that burden of indecision from Blaine's shoulders.

But, now…

"Pet?" Kurt summons in a soft voice.

"Yes, Sir?" Blaine answers, a rush of relief cooling the panic that had begun to spiral throughout his body.

"Would you lock the door and come here for a moment?"

"Of course." Blaine locks the door and hurries over with barely a beat in between, but a secondary fear has cropped up in his brain, one that he hadn't considered before.

That Blaine had done something to displease Kurt, he just didn't know what it was yet. But whatever it was, Kurt was going to force Blaine to take his place in the rice, possibly for the entire evening, and from the depths of Blaine's body, he starts to shudder.

No. Kurt enjoys the torture that comes with anticipation, but he wouldn't just spring a punishment this severe on Blaine without talking with him first – sitting down at the kitchen table and outlining everything Blaine had done incorrectly. He wouldn't do this without giving Blaine several chances to change his behavior and make things right. Blaine has to calm his mind and have faith. He trusts Kurt. Kurt is a good Dom. He's a fair man. He believes in their rules and structure just as much as Blaine does. That's why the two of them fit together so well.

Blaine stands beside Kurt – to the right and a bit behind, and with a heavy swallow he says, "May I have permission to speak, Sir?"

Blaine doesn't see his Master's face directly, but he sees a bit of it now through the reflection in the glass. He's not staring out the window. His eyes aren't open. They're serenely shut, his face completely relaxed, as if he's been meditating this entire time. Blaine is in awe. He doesn't know how long Kurt has been here. He usually gets home by seven, whereas Blaine is normally out of rehearsals by nine or ten. But they ran over, and now it's close to midnight. Which means, if Kurt stripped down the moment he got home and came straight here (from a glance at the kitchen, where there are no dishes from dinner waiting in the sink for Blaine to wash, it appears that might be exactly what he did), he has been kneeling on rice for around five hours (longer than he has ever made Blaine do). And yet, his face shows no hint of pain, except for the dry tracks of tears on his cheeks, which Blaine suspects have nothing to do with the rice.

Kurt takes a deep breath, and lets it go slowly. "You may, pet," Kurt says on the final exhale.

"With all due respect, Sir, why you are kneeling?"

Kurt takes another breath in and lets it out. "I just…needed to clear my head, pet. It's been kind of a long day."

"Do you want to talk about it, Sir?"

"Not just yet, pet. I need a little more time."

Blaine nods, even though Kurt hasn't opened his eyes. Blaine takes a peek around, searching for clues. The place is nearly immaculate. Kurt went to the trouble of hanging up his clothes himself instead of lying them out neatly on the bed or over the chair for Blaine to hang up for him. So, this wasn't a spontaneous decision. It was a ritual. But why? Again, Blaine is certain Kurt will tell him in time, but he'd still like to know what could bring this strong a man to his knees.

Blaine shuts his eyes, clearing the image of the room from his vision, then opens them again. There's something he's not seeing. He does another sweep of the loft from the front door, to the dining room, to the living room, and the bedroom. The change is subtle, nothing that would leap out at him, but through new eyes, he finally notices a few things.

There's a new bouquet of flowers in the vase on the kitchen table. This morning, the flowers were blue irises. Now, they're callas. White ones. Blaine loves callas personally, but Kurt isn't all that fond of them. He says they remind him of his mother's funeral. Blaine understands that. Callas are commonly used for funeral arrangements, but they're also used for weddings. But Blaine doesn't think Kurt would buy them for himself. Someone had to have sent them.

Blaine spots Kurt's phone, sitting on the coffee table, the screen black with the time displayed, and an alert telling him he has unread messages. Kurt is fastidious when it comes to checking his messages. It's almost a compulsion for him to make sure that they are read and cleared in a timely manner. But from the looks of it, they've been piling up. Why didn't he turn his phone off? That's what he does during his and Blaine's sessions.

It's almost as if…he couldn't care.

On the bed, camouflaged by the white comforter, Blaine spots a white card, about the size of a photograph, with gold lettering. Blaine hadn't seen it before because the card stock so closely matched the comforter. Even the embossing on the card matched the embroidery on the comforter. Kurt makes it a point to put mail away in a specified drawer the moment he opens it so it doesn't clutter up the living space, or advertise personal business to anyone who might drop by. But this card is laying out on Kurt's side of the bed, too far away for Blaine to pick it up without Kurt noticing, but close enough for Blaine to read a few of the words.

He looks away. He should stop himself. Kurt said that he would tell him when he was ready, but, this suspense is almost triggering. He doesn't want to interrupt Kurt's scene with a panic attack.

He doesn't want his Dom to have to take care of him when it looks like Kurt is the one who needs taking care of.

Blaine decides he'll take a glance. Just a single peek between blinks, and whatever he sees, that'll be all. He won't look any more than that. He shifts his eyes to the right once, not even long enough to know if Kurt's name is on the card or not. But three words stick out clearly, and them together gives Blaine a hint as to what it all means.

The words _memorial_ …and _McKinley_ …and _Finn_.

Blaine sighs. Finn was Kurt's stepbrother who had passed right after high school. They both attended McKinley.

Blaine looks back at Kurt's face, eyes still shut, his façade of peace marked by a trail of new tears.

"May I join you, Sir?" Blaine asks. "Or would you prefer to be alone?"

Kurt's first attempt to speak stutters around a hiccup. He clears his throat, but it doesn't make much of a difference. He keeps his tone tight so as not to sob, but his voice is so full of emotion that Blaine feels the weight of it in his own chest.

"I would appreciate very much" – Kurt pauses for a breath, and Blaine thinks he's about to be sent away, to do his chores and go to bed so that Kurt can mourn alone. Many situations like these Kurt suffers alone, whether because he thinks he needs to put on a strong front or because he's embarrassed to let anyone see him be weak. But even on his knees, Kurt is the strongest man Blaine has ever met – "if you would join me, pet. Thank you."

It takes a second for Blaine to process the fact that Kurt just invited him to kneel with him, so he doesn't react right away.

"You don't need to kneel on the rice," Kurt adds, assuming that's the reason for Blaine's hesitation. "Just this once, I'm giving you a choice."

"My place is beside you, Sir," Blaine says, even as his voice shakes, thinking about the impending pain. "If you're kneeling on rice, I will, too."

The slight nausea that swells in his stomach at the thought of it, at the thought of _many hours_ of it, subsides when he sees his Master smile with appreciation…and pride.

Blaine shows homage to the ritual by stripping off his clothes and hanging them up, tossing his underwear in the hamper, then dropping to his knees on the rice beside Kurt. Kurt doesn't open his eyes when he hears the rice crunch, driving into the floor the same way it drives into Blaine's knees, but when he feels his sub beside him, he takes the hand closest and laces their fingers together.

"Just for a few minutes, pet," Kurt reassures him, knowing that he's asking more of Blaine in this one moment than he probably should, seeing as the pain he needs to work through is his own, and not Blaine's. Blaine did nothing wrong. He shouldn't be subjected to this on a whim. But Kurt is grateful for Blaine's devotion, for his loyalty, for his obedience. For not just being his sub, or his lover, but for being his closest friend. "And then, we'll find a more appropriate way to end the day together."


	3. Sudden - Revisited

**A/N: It's been a while since that night when Kurt first showed Blaine what it meant to be owned - that Kurt could take him and use him for his pleasure at any time, in any way. That first time, Blaine felt hurt and confused. He needed comfort from his Dom. But things have changed. They've both grown together, fallen deeper in love.**

 **This time, both Blaine's and Kurt's reaction to the act is very different.**

 **(Basically shows that there is no perfect Dom or sub, no one right way to have a D/s relationship, and it's not just the sub that learns and changes. Doms need to adapt, too. Makes mention of both the one-shot 'Sudden' and 'Barriers'. Warning for light angst, D/s themes, sexual content, and one failed attempt by Kurt to speak Filipino.)**

Blaine sighs, but not too deeply, his body completely drained as he trudges up the stairs to Kurt's and his loft. Blaine loves their rustic living space, so vintage chic, still brimming with an air of late thirties nostalgia from when the building was originally built, the bricks that comprise the walls soaked in it, fermented by it, turning simple red cinders into a silent testament to the end of New York's prohibition era. The building itself, nestled in the heart of Brooklyn, overlooked by most everyone who passes it by, is a conversation piece to those who know of its rich history.

But on nights like this, Blaine wishes they could move to a place that has an elevator.

It's been a long day.

A long ass fucking day.

Blaine never thought it would end. Even when the cast and crew were about to drop dead from exhaustion, each one of them praying that the director would call cut for the night, he'd yell at them to take it from the top…take it from the top…take it from the top, like some sadistic parrot. And Blaine, having spent about seven hours straight performing the same damn number over and over again, in platform boots no less, was about to collapse.

He didn't know that he could come to somewhat hate something that he loves so much, but these late night rehearsals are starting to eat into him. He's not ungrateful. He knows he's a lucky bastard for having this shot, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. It's everything he's ever dreamed of. But rehearsing for a performance like this one is more hard work than your music, voice, and dance teachers tell you about…and they sure as shit tell you enough to make you want to run screaming sometimes, give up while you're ahead, before you get smacked in the face with about thirty thousand rejections, each one worse than the last, all reminding you how _not_ good enough you are. No matter how talented you _think_ you are, no matter how blessed, no matter who you know, sometimes things still don't pan out. Blaine knows so many people who aren't making it, so many friends from high school that he thought for sure would have a better chance than him relying on their "fall back" careers to make a living. So Blaine thanks his lucky stars for his spinning head, his scratchy throat, and his aching feet every night that he's living out his dream.

But he can still admit that, even as he fantasizes about the excitement of opening night, it still sometimes sucks, especially because it takes him away from the man that he loves.

Blaine fishes his key out of his pocket and fits it into the lock, smiling the way he always does when he gets home.

Performing on Broadway is his dream, but coming home to his Dom is the best part of his day.

Life with Kurt is a paradox - as much regimented schedules and rules as it is spontaneity and surprise. Just walking through the door can turn into an adventure in dominance and romance. For the most part, Blaine knows what awaits him, but really, anything can happen to him the second he walks inside.

And it does.

Blaine slides the door open about a foot and Kurt's there, as if he's been standing there the whole night, waiting for Blaine to come home. Kurt pushes the door open the rest of the way, grabs Blaine by the belt, and, without a word or a kiss, shoves him toward the couch.

Kurt has done this before, though not all that often. The first time was confusing and kind of humiliating for Blaine. It made him question how he felt about their relationship. But through conversation and guidance, Blaine gained a better grasp of how Kurt operated. Now that Blaine is more comfortable in their relationship, things are different than they were in the beginning.

But Blaine hasn't been the only person adjusting. While he's been absorbing Kurt's rules and his expectations, Kurt has been learning about his sub – who he is as a person outside of their Dom/sub relationship as well as inside it, everything that makes Blaine tick, his likes and dislikes, his triggers and his limits.

They've been talking things out.

They've been learning.

They've been growing.

Kurt catches Blaine unaware, but when Blaine realizes what's happening, he knows what to do. He pushes pride aside and goes with the flow, dropping his bag and his keys to the floor. He doesn't flinch when Kurt tears his shirt open and a button pops off. He becomes pliant as his Dom maneuvers him, pulling his arms back so Kurt has easy access to his wrists. Kurt bends Blaine over the arm of the couch. He roughly yanks down his jeans, pulls out the plug that Blaine wears, and fucks him.

And Blaine takes it. Instead of being hurt by it, he understands it. He knows his place in their dynamic better, what it means to be owned. In fact, he's found that on nights like tonight, he actually _needs_ this. It's cathartic, pushing aside the stress and chaos of the day and narrowing his focus to this part of him. It brings him back to center, gives him a means to slough off his rehearsal angst and leave it at the door. He's even found a way to secretly satisfy his desires through this, too; not sexually, since Kurt doesn't allow it, his thrusts in this position designed to come close to but not quite hit the mark. Being used for Kurt's pleasure this way is emotionally satisfying for Blaine.

Fulfilling.

And being left in denial is a lesson, a reminder, one that Blaine welcomes. It will stick with him, carry through to the following day, resonate in his body when lesser fears and anxieties try to overwhelm him.

In a way, Blaine expected this. He's been pulling an astounding amount of long nights in preparation for the opening of his show. He and his Dom haven't been able to squeeze too many sessions into the cracks in their busy schedules. The frustration must be wearing on Kurt. Blaine needs Kurt, needs his dominance to help keep him on track, but Kurt needs Blaine, too.

Theirs is a reciprocal relationship, with each party giving as much as they get.

Kurt cums before Blaine can, but, of course, it's not necessary for Blaine to finish at all in this scenario. This is strictly for Kurt – to stake his claim, to get off, to relieve his anxiety…

…to reinforce for Blaine who he belongs to, and that he can be used at any time, in any way.

Kurt pulls out and walks away, leaving Blaine to deal with his own cleanup, while a much more relaxed Kurt returns to his recliner and the magazine he was reading when Blaine came home. If Blaine was feeling bad about what just happened, which he's not, that alone tells Blaine something important.

Kurt has been waiting up for Blaine. Kurt misses him.

Blaine stands from the couch. He grabs his plug and inserts it quickly, which Kurt requires Blaine to do after he cums.

An ass full of Kurt's cum. Another mark of ownership.

Blaine pulls up his jeans and zips up the fly. He fixes his shirt as best he can with one popped button. He retrieves his bag and his keys and puts them away, closing and locking the loft door behind him. As he starts toward the kitchen to heat up his dinner, he stops at Kurt's chair. He stands quietly, head bowed, waiting for Kurt to acknowledge him and give him permission to speak.

"Is there something you wanted to say, pet?" Kurt doesn't look up from his magazine to meet Blaine's eyes, but Blaine can tell that Kurt's been reading the page he's on for far too long. Kurt doesn't sound as cocky as he was the first time he did this to Blaine. He doesn't sound as unapologetic. He knows Blaine now, knows about his anxiety and his panic attacks.

Kurt is within his rights to use Blaine, as per their explicit, written agreement…but he still worries about him.

And Blaine, knowing how much Kurt worries, wants to give him reassurance that he's okay.

"Thank you, Sir," Blaine says, "for letting me be of service."

Kurt looks up from his magazine.

Blaine smiles.

Kurt catches his breath.

Then, Kurt pulls Blaine down to his knees and kisses him hard.

"That's my boy," he whispers with a bite to Blaine's lower lip. "Yan ang anak ko. Mahal kita…so much."

Blaine chuckles lightheartedly. What Kurt said isn't entirely correct, and his accent isn't the greatest, but Blaine loves how hard Kurt tries. When Blaine entered into this relationship, it was exciting, but daunting. He saw himself trying to reach an ideal of the perfect submissive and failing miserably. But there is no perfect sub, Blaine has discovered. Nor a perfect Dom. And no one right way to be either. It's just the two of them, working at this relationship, making mistakes from time to time, but mostly enjoying their lives and the fact that they get to spend them together.

And they're in love.

"Je t'aime, aussi," Blaine says, "so much."


	4. Replenish

**A/N: Kurt takes his sub shopping for play time "supplies" at one of the last places Blaine would ever expect - The Home Depot.**

 **This story borrows from personal experience and is meant to showcase how Kurt dispels the fears of his new submissive. It also talks about the importance of trust and communication. This backtracks in the timeline. I would say this happens pretty close after the very first chapter 'Sudden'. Warning for mention of BDSM, alludes to bondage and sensation play, and light anxiety.**

"So…what are we doing _here,_ Master?" Blaine sniffs, raising a hand to shield his nose from the overpowering stench of pesticide, industrial cleaner, and sawdust. Kurt's brow pinches and his nose scrunches, so Blaine knows he smells it, too, but it doesn't keep him from grabbing a shopping cart and leading Blaine inside.

"I told you," Kurt says. He nods to the greeter standing at the entrance, then heads immediately to the left, obviously sure where he's going. "I need to pick up a few things for play time." Kurt doesn't look directly at Blaine when he answers but he still flashes a smile both devious and teasing.

"I know, Master, but…at The Home Depot?"

"Yup. At The Home Depot."

When Kurt said they were going shopping for "supplies", Blaine thought they would be hitting up Kurt's favorite kink shop downtown. He didn't foresee them going to a hardware store. Blaine looks down the aisles they pass, shelves reaching high to the ceiling and stocked with items like screws, bolt cutters, and hammers - things that Blaine wouldn't ever imagine using during their scenes. Blaine didn't know that Kurt had ever even been to a Home Depot. He doesn't seem like the _home improvement_ type. But that assumption is Blaine's fault, not Kurt's. Blaine has to stop judging by appearances. It's a bad habit anywhere, not only in the D/s scene. He should know better by now. He's seen enough alpha corporate business types stripped naked, shoved to their knees, and spanked till they cried in this past month living with Kurt to know that not everything in life is what it seems.

Kurt turns down an aisle labeled _Tools and Hardware_ and begins searching the shelves.

"Isn't this a little _50 Shades of Grey_?" Blaine asks.

Kurt stops short in the vacant aisle and turns on Blaine. He pulls his sub forward by the knot in his bowtie until they're standing nose to nose.

"No, it's not," Kurt hisses. "It's what most every Dominant does, especially ones who make their own gear. E. L. fucking James didn't invent it, she didn't even correctly represent it, and don't you ever, _ever_ bring up that disgusting piece of shit to me if you ever want to sit comfortably again. Do I make myself clear?"

Blaine's jaw drops and he nods, not eager to anger Kurt in a store where he has easy access to things like nails and staple guns.

"So" - Kurt releases Blaine's tie and resumes his walk down the aisle, smiling as if that indiscretion on Blaine's part never happened - "I think I'm going to need a packet of zip ties..." He grabs a clear bag of black zip ties from the shelf and nonchalantly tosses it into his cart. "Some of this pretty nylon rope…" A skein of blue paracord follows the zip ties into the cart. "What next? Ah, yes, sand paper…superfine grit to scuff up those sexy knees…" Kurt keeps walking, ticking items off his mental checklist as he puts them in his cart. Blaine follows, watching his Dom choose the devices of his torture. "Wire…" Blaine swallows when he sees Kurt add a roll of thin metal wire to the contents of the cart. He has no idea what besides binding his wrists and ankles Kurt might use it for, but it doesn't look pleasant. Kurt leaves the aisle and turns a corner, pausing momentarily at a box of narrow wood strips. "Ooo, rattan," Kurt coos. "I think we can use a few new canes. Don't you, love?" Kurt picks through the bunch for an acceptable piece and slides it free. He holds it by the end and whips the air, the beige strip snapping back with a crack that makes Blaine's knees rubbery.

"Uh…yes, Sir," Blaine agrees in a weak voice.

Kurt tosses three choice strips into his cart and continues to an aisle labeled _Bath and Faucets_.

"And we neeeeed…" Kurt murmurs aloud as he roams the aisle, perusing the shelves. "Ah! Caulk." Kurt picks up a tube and turns it over in his hand, running his palm up and down it suggestively. He reads the print along the side, an unsettling quirk to his lips that makes Blaine queasy. "Hmm, waterproof and flexible. Everything I need."

Blaine stares at the long tube with it's almost equally long, pointed tip that his Master puts in the top shelf of their shopping cart, and shudders. What the hell is _that_ for? Worse yet…where is it supposed to _go_? That tube looks like it's got some sharp edges. Or maybe…caulk…isn't that used to seal up holes and gaps?

Suddenly, Blaine wants to be sick.

"Uh…w-what do we n-need that for, Sir?" Blaine asks, his voice shaking.

"Hmmm?" Kurt, examining a selection of towel bars, looks at his sub staring pale-faced at the tube of caulk. "Oh. A pipe under the kitchen sink is leaking, and I can't get a hold of the building superintendent for anything."

"Oh…yeah, well, I-I think he said something about going out of town to visit a sick cousin," Blaine says, finishing off with a relieved sigh.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, looking Blaine over with critical eyes. "Why so nervous, pet? Do you not like caulk for some reason?" It sounds like a ridiculous question, but Kurt has come to discover that Blaine has some unique triggers to his anxiety, things from his past that manifest in ways that Kurt would never anticipate, so he errs on the side of caution.

"It's not…it's not that," Blaine says. "I just…you said we were buying stuff for play time, and I didn't know what you needed it for…and I thought…"

Kurt tilts his head, trying to riddle through Blaine's thought process. Blaine doesn't express himself clearly when he gets nervous. He stutters, loses words, withdraws. It can be cute when Blaine gets flustered, especially when Kurt introduces him to new things, but it'll become dangerous if it gets in the way of them communicating. Communication is an important bridge in their relationship. It has to remain uncluttered at all times. Blaine needs to learn to speak his mind just as much as he needs to learn to trust Kurt implicitly.

"You thought that I was going to use it on you somehow?"

"Uh…maybe," Blaine says quietly.

"Blaine…" Kurt's voice is stern, compelling Blaine to answer honestly with an unspoken promise of punishment if he doesn't.

"Yes, Sir. Yes, I did." Blaine hangs his head, looking as embarrassed as he does ashamed.

Kurt looks from Blaine's lowered eyes to the tube of caulk, noticing at once its obscene shape, and he can see where Blaine might have gotten that idea, but it also says a lot that Blaine didn't know for sure…or that he was afraid to ask. It's even worse to think that Blaine might try to find the answers to his questions by reading a trash work of fiction instead of coming out and asking his Dom. There's so much that Blaine doesn't know about what he's gotten in to with Kurt, but Kurt loves Blaine. He's made it his mission to teach Blaine.

And Kurt prides himself on being an exceptional teacher.

"That tube of caulk looks like it could cause some serious damage if I used it on you, don't you think?" Kurt asks.

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says, eyes fixed on his shoelaces.

"We had a long talk about this. We discussed your limits. I know what to expect from you, and you should know what to expect from me." Kurt hooks a finger beneath Blaine's chin and tips his head up. "Blaine, I'm not going to do anything that will put your health in danger. I'm not going to ruin your body. I'm not going to hurt you any more or in any way other than we discussed. I'm not going to do anything you didn't sign up for. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Sir?"

Kurt presses his forehead to Blaine's and whispers against his mouth, "Do you love me?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine replies, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Good." Kurt hugs Blaine, sneaking his hands into Blaine's back pockets and staking his claim by squeezing his ass. "Because I love you, too. This is the real world, pet. Not some garbage-y, poorly written novel. And in the real world, you belong to me and I belong to you. We talk through our problems, discuss our fears, and find solutions together. Doesn't that make sense, pet?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says, sounding calmer. "It does."

"Now don't get me wrong," Kurt says, moving to Blaine's ear to talk to his sub in private, "I _am_ going to tie you down with that rope, and I _am_ going to bind your wrists with those zip ties, and then, when I have you completely at my mercy…"

"Yes, S-sir…?" Blaine asks in that same wobbly voice, shaking with anticipation this time instead of fear.

Kurt grazes Blaine's earlobe with his teeth, breathes hot against his neck, and digs his nails into the denim of his jeans. He lets his sentence hang in the air open-ended, giving Blaine something to think about on the way home.

"But that will have to wait till later," Kurt says without indicating _what_ specifically has to wait. Kurt feels the tension in Blaine's muscles ratchet up a step. Blaine is not fond of waiting…which is why Kurt will make him wait as long as it pleases him. "Our sink is leaking. So let's buy our stuff and get our asses home so you can fix it." Kurt pecks Blaine on the nose, smacks him on the ass, and lets him go.

" _I'm_ going to fix it?" Blaine asks.

"Yup," Kurt says, strolling away with his cart, "in the _nude_."

Blaine chuckles. "That sounds like the premise to a porno, Sir."

"Exactly" – Kurt grins as he looks back over his shoulder – "that's why I'm going to be filming you."


	5. Denial

**As a Dominant, Kurt enjoys denial. But as a masochist, he appreciates it, too.**

 **This is a narrative that shows the ways that Kurt uses orgasm denial to control his submissive, but also how he uses it to control himself as well.**

 **Warning for orgasm delay/denial, mention of bondage and BDSM situations, light masochism, and anxiety.**

 **Written as part of my more realistic D/s relationship story line.**

 **Part 26 in the Taking a Journey Together D/s series**

As a Dominant, Kurt loves denial.

He loves to put Blaine through his paces, edge him within an inch of cumming and then ruin it for him – with ice, with a few smacks to his shaft, or a hand clamped around his balls.

He loves to listen to Blaine whimper, loves to hear him beg. Loves the way he breaks down when any hope of relief disappears and he knows he's in for a long, long wait. Then there's the constant teasing, brushing over Blaine's erection with the back of his hand just to leave him cold after the heat from his hand fades. Stooping from time to time to blow hot air on Blaine's crotch, implying things he has no intention of doing yet. Kurt gets Blaine hard over and over, then, right before bedtime, when they might usually make love, Kurt locks him up and makes him sleep in his "puppy place" – a six-by-six foot square of rug on the cold, hard floor. Kurt will keep him caged, in agony for weeks – his very own wound up little play thing.

Having that kind of power over his sub's release is almost as exquisite as orgasming himself…which he might do in front of Blaine while Blaine can't touch. Kurt will lounge around the loft in his tightest clothes, or walk around naked, stopping every so often to stroke or finger himself, moaning at how wonderful it feels. He might tie Blaine to a chair so he can watch Kurt masturbate in front of him, or not watch, the chair turned away so all he gets to do is listen to his Master pleasure himself alone.

Sometimes Kurt _does_ cum, making a mess on the floor for his sub to lick up.

That kind of control is the ultimate aphrodisiac, and Kurt never gets enough.

But Kurt also loves denial as a masochist.

Truth be told, denying himself is his secret weapon.

As a teenager, it was his method of overcoming stage fright.

In high school, Kurt suffered from massive stage fright. Just the _thought_ of performing on stage would cause him to break out in a cold sweat. His knees would go weak. He's clench his fists until his hands went sore. He'd come close to vomiting. Sometimes he'd even lose his voice. His choir teacher suggested not using the bathroom before he had to perform theorizing that if he had to go bad enough, the pressure on his bladder and the overall discomfort would give him something to concentrate on besides being scared. Kurt decided that he was more frightened of wetting his pants on stage than of puking on a judgmental audience, so he experimented on his own with different techniques. He felt that his teacher might be on to something, but the man's solution was ludicrous.

Kurt analyzed his problem logically, examined his reaction to the fear he felt. He realized that right before he went on stage, aside from the wooziness and the nausea, his muscles would lock up and his stomach would tense. If he could find a way to counteract that reaction, it could be a big help. He needed to learn how to relax by some means so all-encompassing that there could be no way for him to shut down…or pass out.

He tried massage, meditation, soothing herbal teas, but none of them did the trick. One night, out of frustration and desperation, when the butterflies in his stomach wouldn't calm the fuck down and he couldn't stop his voice from trembling, he turned to masturbation to help him relax…and it worked like a charm. After being stressed out for hours, ratcheted to the point that his head was about to explode, his orgasm was more than climactic. It was atomic. He was so loopy afterwards that friends he had known for years accused him of being tipsy. But after that night, rubbing one out before a performance became part of his routine. He'd do it while he was getting ready, in the shower when he'd normally be running scales under the hot water and steam, then sometimes again in the bathroom right before. It worked for a while, but it wasn't fool proof. He became used to it, and discovered he could be completely relaxed from an orgasm and still tense up from nerves seconds before he stepped out on stage.

The night of the NYADA Winter Showcase, his situation became dire. He was called out by Carmen Tibideaux herself, Dean of Vocal Performance and Song Interpretation, to sing for the crème de la crème of students and faculty.

He was going to choke. He just knew it. This was his one shot to get into the school of his dreams. He didn't have a clue what to do.

Straddling a private toilet in one of the vacant dressing rooms with only seconds to spare, he was so frazzled, he couldn't cum. His dry palm had chafed his cock raw. No matter how hard he tried, no matter who he fantasized about, there was no way he could make himself climax, and the mad rush to do so made things even worse.

He might as well walk out then and there, he thought. He was through.

But he couldn't. This is what he wanted, and come hell or high water, Kurt Hummel wasn't a quitter.

Kurt had been wearing a pair of the tightest pants he owned, so he had to tuck his erect cock – an experience he's never had to repeat, but would never wish on his worst enemy. But more agonizing than torqueing his raging hard-on into an unnatural position was being so close to the edge and yet unable to cum. His cock throbbed through his entire performance, every breath in an experience in consequential torture.

The emotionally apropos tears leaking from his eyes were more genuine than anyone ever knew.

He sang 'Being Alive', and it was widely recognized as one of the greatest performances of his NYADA career.

That's when he realized the secret – the true power of denial, and how it could not only drive someone to the near brink of insanity, but could sharpen focus by keeping the physical distraction targeted elsewhere, leaving behind clarity of thought.

A physical distraction that _he_ could control.

Nowadays, when on-stage performances have made way for meetings with icons of the fashion world, some of whom make outrageous demands, and others who sit quietly on the sidelines while Kurt pitches ideas for his own label, personal denial is not just a part of his routine. It's a full day process from stimulation to release.

Kurt's denial is a personal experience. It begins first thing in the morning during his shower, which, for this purpose, he takes alone. He strokes himself slowly while he clears his mind. He breathes in deep, ruminating over the sensation of build-up and plateau, build-up and plateau as he edges himself close to orgasm, then backs away. Depending on the extent of his nerves, this preparation can take close to an hour, and can include twisting his nipples or fingering himself, but always ends with a blast of cold water on his genitals. He inserts his own plug up his ass to keep himself on the verge, spread open and wanting. He keeps an egg vibrator on hand in his messenger bag for times when he needs an extra push, to preempt knots in his gut when they threaten to come back, if he feels his mouth go dry, or his hands begin to shake.

Throughout the day, he taunts himself with images of his sub – pictures that Blaine has sent him on command that Kurt stores on his phone for just such an occasion.

Selfies of Blaine taken in various public bathrooms, ass pointed toward the mirror where Kurt can see his plug, shining silver and engraved with the initials _KH,_ peeking out from between his cheeks.

Pictures that Kurt had taken of Blaine bound to their bed, ball-gagged and caged, his stunted cock straining and leaking with arousal.

One photo of Blaine dressed up as Kurt's own personal plastic fuck doll in a purple latex bodysuit with only his cock exposed, available for Kurt's use.

A video he took of Blaine, face obscured by a black leather hood, his cock hooked up to an electro-stimulator, bobbing with every shock of electricity.

A picture of Blaine's ass striped with red welts after a particularly intense caning.

And the pièce de résistance, a photo of Blaine's sweet, innocent eyes, tearing at the corners, looking up at Kurt, his ruby red painted lips stretched around Kurt's cock.

Kurt uses those images to inch him farther and farther to the edge, until just the sound of Blaine's moans could literally have him flooding his pants with cum. But they don't linger in his head when he's in front of a crowd. With only the dull ache in his cock and balls to ground him, he's at his leisure to talk at length about new style trends, the schedule for Fashion Week, his upcoming business trip to Milan and what he expects to accomplish while he's there. He jokes and laughs and chit-chats over finger sandwiches and mineral water, and nobody is the wiser.

Not even his boss, Isabelle, who seems to have a knack for knowing everything.

When his meetings are over, and he needs release, he texts Blaine.

 _Be ready for my disposal._

And depending on the kind of day he's had, he follows with either:

 _Head down, ass up._

Or –

 _Mouth open, eyes shut._

Having spent three hours laying the groundwork for his new design scheme and getting approval from his boss's boss to use the center spread to showcase his fall line, it's definitely a 'mouth open' kind of day.

Kurt appreciates denial, its multiple variants and how they can be used to reinforce his control, not only on his submissive, but on himself as well. Sitting in his office, loading up a new template on his laptop for next month's issue with a grin on his face, he can attest to the fact that it serves his purpose. But unlike Blaine, Kurt has the power to end it at any time.

And when he's ready, he doesn't like waiting for release.

The fact that he's doing this to himself, underneath the nose of everyone he works with, makes it all the sweeter. He's even devised a way to extend his play at work – a private tongue-in-cheek code that he keeps for himself, especially since the busybodies at _Vogue_ don't let him leave without asking if he has plans for later, eagerly prodding him for information as if they expect him to say that he's winging last minute to Belize. If he intends on taking Blaine from behind, he tells his colleagues that he has a late night Pound class with his boyfriend. If he's about to violate his sub's mouth, he says he's looking forward to making Blaine a quiet dinner at home.

As soon as he leaves the office, his sole focus becomes getting back to his loft as quickly as he can. He could hail a taxi, but he chooses to endure the subway ride home - the rocking, the jarring, the crowds and the heat bringing his body to a rolling boil, testing the limits of his endurance.

When he gets home and sees Blaine on his knees at the door, eyes shut and mouth open, ready to be of service, that's when Kurt's limit is usually reached.

Most times he takes Blaine without even closing the front door.


	6. Progress

**In the month since his last punishment, Kurt has seen some remarkable progress from Blaine, and it deserves to be acknowledged.**

 *****Follows 'Punishment - Caning'. This is one of many one-shots I am going to be writing on the subject of "reward" - how they are decided upon, how they are doled out and when. This also goes into a little bit about Kurt and Blaine's "rituals".**

 **Warning for anxiety.**

"Here you are, Sir. Your afternoon tea…if I may?"

Kurt doesn't look up from his paperwork as his sub stands by, waiting for permission to serve. Though it might seem like it, Kurt isn't ignoring him. Blaine's presence hasn't gone unnoticed. Kurt knows Blaine is there. But this is an exercise. Blaine is not allowed to make assumptions. Blaine defers to Kurt. He can't presume a pattern of behavior just because they've done this before. He needs to wait for his Dom to tell him what to do. He has been told to serve, but Kurt decides on _when_. And while Kurt decides, Blaine needs to wait, and do so graciously.

Though grace is not a problem for Blaine. It's in his nature.

Kurt takes a breath, holds it for three, then says, "You may, pet."

Blaine sets a tray down in front of his Master, careful to line up the straight edge of it with the edge of the table, approximately nine-and-a-half inches away. It might sound insane to some; the term _anally retentive_ could actually be a more suitable term. When Kurt first told Blaine this was how he expected to be served, Blaine is ashamed to admit that he thought so, too. But it has a purpose. _Everything_ has a purpose. Kurt is not a frivolous man. There is a meaning behind everything in his life, and that includes his rules.

Kurt looks at Blaine's neatly appointed tray, and smiles fondly at it. Kurt had only required that he be served tea at this time on the days when he would be home. It was _Blaine_ who decided to take the extra step and purchase the accoutrement, each piece of the tea service chosen from various thrift shops in Chelsea – a silver-plated tray with matching teapot and sugar bowl; a vintage Royal Albert Polka Rose teacup and saucer, plus a complimentary plate for cookies (maple and brown sugar cookies that Blaine bakes specially for Kurt); and a Le Creuset stoneware honey pot with wooden dipper, filled with pomegranate clover honey.

Kurt takes a moment away from his work and watches Blaine set out the saucer and teacup. With the use of miniature silver tongs, perfectly sized for the purpose, he delicately places two lumps of sugar at the bottom of the cup. He measures out a teaspoon of Kurt's favorite black tea into a diffuser and sets that in between the sugar cubes. Observing this ritual of Blaine serving tea is soothing for Kurt, a private dance Blaine performs just for him. It's a joy for Kurt to see Blaine toil so meticulously over his drink, and not because Kurt commands Blaine to. Yes, it's one of Blaine's expectations, but Blaine _wants_ to do it. He wants to serve Kurt. If not, there would be no specially thought out tea service, no one-of-a-kind cookies, and no content little smile tipping up the corners of Blaine's mouth.

As Blaine reaches for the teapot to pour the hot water, Kurt puts a hand on Blaine's arm.

"Pet" - Kurt points to a sheet of paper on the table. It's one out of a number of papers that Kurt has been reading, and since the paperwork on the table is exclusively Kurt's business, Blaine had made a point of ignoring them - "do you know what this is?"

Blaine only has to glance at the page to know what it is. When he sees it, his smile subconsciously fades. "That is my…progress sheet, Sir."

When Blaine first moved in with Kurt, they spent days going over the rules, and Blaine's chores and responsibilities, until Blaine could recite them in his sleep. But stress and anxiety from work made it difficult for Blaine to keep on top of things, even with the notebook Kurt gave him to write everything down in. Blaine had started falling behind, not because he was purposefully being disobedient, and not because he didn't care, but because he had a difficult time thinking past the stress. Kurt didn't like disciplining Blaine for something that Blaine didn't have complete conscious control of.

Kurt's first instinct was to tell Blaine to eliminate the source of his stress, ergo quit his job, but Blaine was reluctant to do that for reasons that Kurt understood. For weeks, Kurt would gently remind Blaine when something went overlooked, then give him a spanking as a form of correction, but Blaine took punishing himself a step further when he still couldn't remember. Kurt caught Blaine in the bathroom on several occasions, standing in front of the sink, staring at his face in the mirror, and repeatedly spitting at himself, "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" until he began to cry.

Kurt had to find a way to put an end to that behavior. Commanding Blaine to _stop_ wouldn't work. What Blaine was doing was an emotion-based, stress-fueled response. Blaine couldn't simply turn it off. Kurt would be setting Blaine up to fail by telling him to do so. It broke Kurt's heart thinking that Blaine was so overloaded that he was bowing under the strain, and that Kurt's rules might be contributing to that, but Kurt knew that lightening Blaine's load by eliminating one or two of his chores around the loft wasn't the answer. Blaine showed love and loyalty through service. To have one of his responsibilities lifted would be like outright telling him he was a failure, even if Kurt explained that it was for his own good. The only thing Kurt could think to do then was to figure out a way to help Blaine succeed, using a method he would be comfortable with, a more visible daily reminder than writing things down in a notebook.

The idea came to Kurt one evening as he watched Blaine get his lesson plan together. He was creating a chart of class chores for the week, with every student assigned to a specific task. When Kurt asked Blaine about it, he explained that the pupils rotated assignments each week, and that they received a star for each one completed. If a reasonable amount of the tasks were done by the end of the week (more than, say, 70% or so), they would earn five extra credit points toward their grade. Or alternately, for students already achieving As and Bs, they could earn a privilege – permission to listen to their iPods during free reading time, or to play games on their phones quietly if they finish their work before everyone, even opt out of an assignment if it won't increase their grade (optimal for kids in multiple AP classes who may need the extra time for catching up in a different subject). It seemed so simple, but it was positively brilliant. Kurt felt foolish that he'd never thought of it, but then again, he knows he still has things he needs to learn.

Things that his clever sub could teach him.

The simple chart that Kurt had made and printed off his computer, saving the template to a special flash drive entirely devoted to Blaine, had the name of the month displayed at the top, Blaine's chores listed on the vertical edge, and the days of the week written along the horizontal. This sheet was crowded with every square filled – a gold adhesive star for each task completed properly.

"That's correct," Kurt says, tapping it once. "And do you know what I see when I look at this progress sheet?"

Blaine fidgets, glad he's no longer holding the tray since his hands have started shaking. He locks them together tight, trying his hardest to be still, but even with his hands immobile, he can't seem to settle his body on one foot or the other, shifting his weight nervously between the two. His last progress sheet was the reason why he got caned, but that time, Blaine knew before Kurt said anything that he was going to receive punishment. He knew the things he had done wrong, even while he did a few of them. He had felt overwhelmed then, but his fault wasn't in disobeying.

It was in not coming to his Dom for help in the first place.

This time, he's not sure. He's been careful, conscientious. He _thinks_ he's done everything the way he's supposed to, but he's been so busy lately, distracted by rehearsals and the never-ending issues at work. He doesn't think he's being blindsided, he just doesn't know for sure. He knows he can talk to Kurt about anything, but he doesn't know yet where he went wrong.

"What do you see, Sir?" Blaine asks, trepidation sneaking into his voice though he tries to shove it out.

"I see…" Kurt pauses. He recognizes Blaine's confusion, his fear, and smiles warmly to alleviate both – "that you've been eating when you're supposed to. I see that you've gone to bed on time, and that you haven't been using your electronics without permission. I see that you're doing your chores. I see that you have done everything that you are supposed to. So today, you get to choose a reward."

"Thank you, Sir." Blaine breathes out, relieved. "Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome. So, what would you like, pet?" Kurt pulls out another list, one that he and Blaine had constructed together, decorated with stickers and pieces of flair – Blaine's reward list. "You choose. Anything you want."

"Anything, Sir?" Blaine asks, more lively than before. "Like…maybe even something that's not on the list?"

Kurt doesn't have to give it a thought. "Sure," he says. "Tell me." And why not? After all, Blaine has earned it. They haven't revised Blaine's reward list in a while, but Blaine knows his parameters. He understands the guidelines of what he's allowed to choose. Though, to be frank, the list they have now is pretty comprehensive. Kurt can't imagine what Blaine might want that's not already on there.

He's curious what his little pet has in mind.

Blaine pinches his bottom lip beneath his top teeth, and Kurt can tell that his precious sub has come up with something. From the way he's blushing, Kurt is dying to know what it is.

"I want… _you_ , Master."

Kurt raises a brow. "Really?" They had decided to make sexual favors a grey area on the reward list, so they weren't explicitly included. Blaine would be required to ask, and Kurt had the power to agree or decline, and possibly punish if Kurt felt Blaine's request was a bit too far reaching. "And _how_ do you want me, pet?"

"I want my mouth on you, Master." It's stated simply and with confidence, the actor in Blaine covering up the part that's less sure.

"Are you _certain_ that's what you want?" Kurt asks, testing his pet's courage to see if he'll fold.

To see if Blaine wants this bad enough to risk what it might cost him if Kurt decides against it.

"Yes, Master. I'm sure." Blaine licks his lips, and Kurt wonders if he even realizes he did.

There's a power exchange involved here. It's subtle, but it's there. Blaine has made his request succinctly, in a way that's not too insecure or too demanding. He's surpassed every hurdle that Kurt has used to test him. And besides, this reward in particular isn't only a reward for Blaine. It's been a long day for Kurt. Kurt deserves a little extra worship.

Wordlessly, Kurt sets the lists aside. He looks at Blaine watching him respectfully through lowered lashes, just the faintest hint of a smile dimpling his cheeks.

"Well, pet" - Kurt makes himself comfortable in his chair and opens his legs - "come get me then."


	7. Reins

**Blaine is a man of many worries, anxieties, and triggers.**

 **So he hands his fears over to Kurt.**

 **Kurt ties Blaine in knots, and sets him free.**

 *****This is inspired by the concept of tying someone down by their hair. In the case of Blaine, Kurt does it symbolically. It represents how Kurt takes Blaine's problems from him so that Blaine can simply exist, content in the care and safety of his Dominant.**

 **Warning for anxiety, and sexual content.**

One-hundred seventy-four.

That's how many of Blaine's boyish curls Kurt has tied to individual strings, the tail ends wound between Kurt's fingers like reins.

It's Kurt's own variation on tying a sub down by their hair. It's usually done to submissives with long ponytails, braids, or beards, which Blaine doesn't have. Kurt could tell Blaine to grow his hair out, but for the moment, long hair would be extremely impractical, and facial hair isn't allowed. It probably wouldn't grow to the length Kurt needs anyway.

So he does this instead.

It's actually kind of ridiculous. Kurt has to use embroidery floss, which is the only thing thin enough to knot in Blaine's hair. Plus it takes Kurt close to an hour and a half to complete...not that Blaine minds. (He gets Kurt's complete and total attention when he's being tied. Even if he has to contort his body into all sorts of weird, awkward, and uncomfortable positions, why would he mind?)

Because Blaine's hair is so silky, Kurt had to do some of the knots over, as they slipped right out. Even using Kurt's best knots, Blaine could pull out of them with ease. They're not really doing a job of keeping Blaine bound, except by his own discipline, since he has to remain completely still to keep the knots in.

But that's not entirely the point.

The strings are symbolic.

Blaine is a man of many worries, anxieties, and triggers.

When Kurt and Blaine first met, at that audition so many months ago, Blaine exuded the confidence of a seasoned performer. And he is. Blaine has been performing much of his young life, so it's an easy role for him to play. But Kurt learned that that confidence doesn't extend too far past the stage. And in that, Blaine is an incredible actor. One of the finest that Kurt has ever seen.

If Kurt had to label every single one of those lines wrapped around Blaine's curls with something that tortures Blaine on a daily basis, he could do it with no problem.

Blaine's weight would be one.

His body proportions overall would be another.

His self-worth – as an actor, as a teacher, as a submissive, as a human being, as a son, as a lover…that list can go on almost infinitely.

 _Is he really as talented as he can make people believe he is?_ That would be one.

 _If he is that talented, will he end up being a flash in the pan?_ Another.

 _What if he gets seriously injured, and his understudy actually ends up being the next "big thing" on Broadway?_ That one is probably red.

 _What if he's messing up the lives of the kids he teaches day after day?_ Black.

What if he's sending his students off into a world that they're not ready for, and their lack of preparation has something to do with him?

What if he never succeeds at anything?

What if his parents aren't really proud of him?

His parents…they had him late in life. They're getting older, and he hasn't seen them face-to-face in a while. They don't even live in the same city. What if something horrible happens to them, and he doesn't get the chance to say good-bye?

And the most heartbreaking of them all (to Kurt, at least), the ones that Kurt only knows about because of texts he came across on Blaine's phone, saved to a folder of "de-motivational" messages that Blaine sends to himself:

What if Kurt wakes up one day and decides he doesn't love Blaine anymore?

What if he decides that Blaine is too much work?

What if he decides that Blaine is a waste of time?

In their loft, Blaine does his best to let go of all that, but he can only really do it with his Dom's help. Many people recommend leaving their troubles "at the door" when they come home, outside of their place of safety. Blaine's therapist told him something similar during one of their sessions: "Inviting your problems into your home means you'll get comfortable living with them, and thus, never try to overcome them. Keep them on your doorstep, and pick them up in the morning like you would your briefcase or your lunchbox, and then deal with them in the morning when you start your day, when you're refreshed and ready to tackle the world."

Kurt thinks that's bullshit advice, especially for Blaine, who struggles with leaving anything be. Like a scab, he'll pick at it. Even if his problems are metaphorically "outside the door", he'd still let them keep him up all night, knowing that they're waiting for him, like a poltergeist, ready to grab him the second he walks out the door.

For himself, Kurt believes in facing his fears head on and conquering them (or devising a method to conquer them) before he goes to bed. That way he can wake up in the morning with either a clean slate or a plan of attack.

For Blaine, Kurt doesn't let him just leave his problems at the door. He has Blaine hand those problems over to him. Blaine writes them down in his notebook, and while he does, he visualizes removing them from his mind, like throwing a crumpled up piece of paper in a waste basket. When he's done, he turns the notebook over to Kurt. Then Kurt sets it aside, and fills Blaine up with other things – with structure, with schedules, with rules and commands, with his own body. Kurt takes control. He holds the reins, keeps them taut, doesn't let them loose where they can weed their way back inside Blaine's head and do damage. Kurt holds those one-hundred seventy-four tails of multicolored floss, and in doing so, he allows Blaine to let go. Kurt spanks him and scratches him, fucks him and bites him, calls him a whore and tells him he loves him. He marks Blaine with bruises that will turn purple, blue, green, yellow, and red, rivaling the colors of the floss in his grip. And slowly, kneeling on sandpaper and edged by his Master, his cock locked in a cage and leaking from the simple biological mechanics of prostate stimulation, Blaine's mind starts to lift away. He has no worries. Kurt owns them all, the same way Kurt owns Blaine, wrapped around his fingers, clutched in his fists, and Blaine can finally find his place of peace.

Kurt does what he can to let Blaine hover there, pushes his body to strain, to limits, to exhaustion. And when they're through, after Blaine comes back, Kurt holds him and rocks him, wipes him down and sings to him, dries him off and gives him ice-cream. If Blaine cries, Kurt lets him cry, but when Blaine is calm, they undo the knots and go over Blaine's problems one by one. Kurt doesn't allow a single one to slip through the cracks. Together, as a couple, a unified front, they come up with a way to keep Blaine from feeling trapped. And when Blaine can't fathom even part of a solution, he trusts Kurt to think of an appropriate one.

Blaine hands his fears over to Kurt.

Kurt ties Blaine in knots, and sets him free.


	8. Dom Drop

**Kurt has discovered that his submissive can be quite the little pain slut, so he's decided to up his game. In the middle of trying out a new (and daunting) toy with his pet, Kurt suddenly stops feeling as sure about what he's doing as he has been in the past. He also starts wondering…is their dynamic really the best for Blaine? (4024 words)**

 ** _***Owing to the nature of this one-shot, the scene between Kurt and Blaine is much more intense than previous scenes. Please bear that in mind. A_ _s the title states, this installment is about Dom drop. Dom drop is something that many Dominants contest, claiming that it is imaginary, it's a sign of weakness, that looking to a sub for comfort, assurance, or aftercare is also weakness, and that someone who does isn't a true Dominant. This, of course, is bulls**t. Dominating someone can be an intense physical and emotional thing. Talking from strictly a biological standpoint, dropping is something that is bound to occur from the exertion alone. This took me a long time to write, and inspiration for it comes from multiple sources - not just from my own personal experiences, but from other Dominants that I respect, who were gracious enough to allow me to use them as inspiration. The doubts expressed by Kurt are true to life. Turning to a submissive for comfort is part of what submissives do. A relationship is give and take, and D/s relationships are not exempt. This installment is an example of a real situation that occurs in what represents a real dynamic. If you do not like Kurt and Blaine's dynamic, don't read it. If you don't agree with Dom drop, don't read this. If you have any problem with the way I write this dynamic, too bad. Don't read it. I'm not apologizing for this series. If you can't take it for what it is and learn from it, maybe you shouldn't be reading authentic D/s writing. Just a thought._**

 ** _Warning for bondage, anal hook, ball gag, spanking, claw crop, aftercare, Dom drop, self-doubt, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mention of injuries that include blood, mention of abrasions made by sandpaper, consequence torture, puppy mitts, pain slut, mention of sub space, rigging._**

To Kurt's recollection, it had only ever happened to him two times before, but not yet with Blaine. Kurt always felt that those other times were flukes – a combination of atmosphere (he had been at a club both times), overexertion, exhaustion, adrenaline, and low blood sugar causing him to drop. Kurt didn't love the guys he was dominating. They weren't even his submissives - just a couple of guys offering themselves up as entertainment. Kurt hadn't really been in the mood during one of those sessions, but the guy had traveled to New York all the way from San Francisco just to get disciplined by _him_. Kurt couldn't say no.

Everybody teased Kurt about it, but that was to help him get over it. They didn't mean anything by it. It passed fairly quickly, with a lot of laughs and drinks before Kurt called it a night.

Whether he thought it was a fluke or not, Kurt knows that it's a more common phenomenon than most people in the community talk about. Some people see it is a weakness, domly doms who want to be seen as large and in charge with no emotional connection to the act of domination other than feeling "all powerful" (which is both dangerous and sick), but Kurt knows it for what it is – biology. It's a physical and emotional response to an intense situation. Simply put – sometimes it just happens.

It occurs more often to Dominants in committed unions, invested in the love and care of their significant other. But as much as Kurt loves Blaine, he didn't think it would happen to him. Kurt is so in control of his emotions and his body. He's had to be. That control started back in high school, and has been a constant in his life. And it's essential in the protection of his sub. Taking care of Blaine 24/7 is not a task that Kurt takes lightly. Blaine's submission is a gift that requires constant tending, and Kurt is determined not to fail him in any way.

Kurt didn't rule it out, he just didn't expect it.

It's weird that it would happen right then, when he and Blaine are in the zone, so to speak, alone in their loft, their scene going so fucking well.

It's kind of an impromptu session, but that doesn't mean Kurt hadn't planned it out in his head, outlined every detail. And it all comes together beautifully – Blaine on his hands and knees on their bed; a red ball gag in his mouth, secured with a hook in the outer center and tied to the frame of the bed to keep his head tilted up; a heavy silver hook in his hole, rigged to the ceiling to keep his ass in the air; his cock buckled in leather straps to his abdomen, straining and purple till it's almost black; sandpaper beneath his knees so he'll think twice about shifting his weight; and his hands cuffed inside fingerless mitts so he can't claw the sheets.

Even the moonlight streaming in from outside, filtered through their sheer curtains, seems ideal.

The claw crop Kurt is using was recommended by a friend. Blaine has proven to be such the little pain slut, Kurt felt he needed to up his game. Blaine's eyes went wide and bright as search lights when he saw it, welling with fear at the stiff leather crop and its metal barbs…but with that sublime anticipation, too, that makes it all worthwhile. Blaine wanted it. Kurt saw that he did, even if, admittedly, the instrument in his hands made Kurt cringe the first time he Googled it. But it wouldn't be the first time Kurt second-guessed a toy, and probably not the last. This is for Blaine, _his_ Blaine, the Blaine who has become so fond of things like staple removers and meat tenderizers driving into his ass cheeks. And Kurt loves Blaine. He wants to open his vistas, push his boundaries.

Each new toy Kurt introduces Blaine to is a learning experience. They discussed this one at length, talked about Blaine using his safeword the second things become too much for him. But understanding Blaine's stubbornness, his reluctance to safeword, Kurt has to be careful. Multiple check-ins would be required to assess Blaine's physical and mental state, and Kurt would have to pull his blows so he didn't shred Blaine's ass cheeks to pieces.

That crop turns out to be just as savage as Kurt assumed it would be, and Blaine's ass wells up good. His squeals aside, which sound disturbingly like the cries of a wounded lamb, Kurt is actually proud of the marks he's made.

And maybe that's it.

Watching the crop bite Blaine's skin, the barbs raking across his flesh, stained with blood, and being _proud_ of it, combined with the sounds Blaine makes - brand new, never before heard whimpers that Kurt is able to drag out of him with each hit, and those noises filling Kurt with a sensation of _ownership,_ primal, powerful…they build up, and finally, they get to him. Kurt sees the angry welts, he hears Blaine's tortured noises, the grinding teeth, the high pitched wails, and yet, Kurt continues to hit Blaine.

Because Blaine wants it.

Because he hasn't used his safeword.

Because Kurt has checked-in with Blaine over and over to make certain he's still okay, and every time, Blaine nods, a smile touching his quivering lips, and that beaming glow in his tearing eyes.

Kurt puts the crop down, purposefully avoiding the blood spatter on the sheets, for another check-in.

"Pet?" Kurt says in his low, commanding voice. He massages Blaine's shoulders, that feeling of _I own you. You're mine._ surging up through his arms when his hands come in contact with Blaine's sweaty skin. "How are you doing? Are we still green?"

Blaine can barely open his eyes. His lips work around the ball gag, trying to come up with words. He sniffs in through his nose, but it's not strong enough to clear the mucous running down his face. He tries to nod, but all he can manage with his head craned up is a stunted jerk.

"Come on, pet," Kurt says, hands kneading down his back, "I need to hear some words. Something that sounds like a _Yes, Sir_ before I can continue."

For the purpose of their scene, Kurt's stalling is two-fold. First, he has a strict rule that if Blaine can't speak, he can't consent. No consent, no play. Second, this break in the impact give Blaine's body a chance to rest and his mind a chance to relax, which isn't just necessary for his endurance, but in leading his body to believe that it's over…when it might be far from over.

Every hit after this pause will smart more. Kurt might as well set that crop on fire before he strikes Blaine again. It's going to be that bad.

Blaine takes another sniffle in, a stronger one. His eyelids flutter open, heavy and damp with perspiration and fatigue. He lifts up higher on his hands and knees, hissing when his shins rubbed raw slide against the blood soaked sandpaper. He repositions his bowing back, his asshole gaining a considerable gape from the amount he's sagged against the hook, and God, Kurt wants to fuck him. Staring at that glorious opening this whole time, probably pliant enough now to stick his fist into – that would be the pinnacle. The cherry on the sundae, having his full hand inside his pet, feeling those sphincter muscles clench around his wrist.

" _Ye-th…Th-ir_ ," Blaine slobbers around the ball gag, a single string of saliva dripping from his lower lip and hitting the sheets.

Kurt runs a hand through Blaine's hair, grabbing a handful and tugging hard. Kurt leans in, tracing the seam of Blaine's chapped lips with the tip of his tongue, knowing they must be cracked and stinging by now, and yet, instead of Blaine's body retreating from the sensation of pain, Blaine's lips move toward it, hoping for a kiss on the mouth from his Master.

Kurt smiles against Blaine's mouth, against the ball gag and his chapped skin.

"Good, pet," Kurt purrs. "Since all is well, let's continue, shall we?"

 _"Ye-th, Th-ir,"_ Blaine is quick to answer, but somewhere inside that plea to continue, Kurt hears his exhaustion. He sees it in his legs trembling with excitement. Blaine's face is the picture of strength and discipline…but his ass looks like hamburger, excruciating to touch.

And still, Kurt climbs up on the bed and prepares to strike Blaine again with hard leather and metal barbs.

Kurt decides to change gears for a moment to reset his compass and spank Blaine this time, get his hands on him, bring back that swell of ownership that he'd felt when he massaged Blaine's shoulders.

He slaps Blaine's right cheek with the flat of his palm, pressing into the wounds with his salty flesh. Blaine's back goes rigid, his pitchy groans soar an octave, and a thread of confliction pulls at Kurt's brain. It feels good. Actually, it feels amazing to have this man at his disposal, to ply his darkest whims on him (within reason), to know that somewhere deep inside Blaine's mind, he finds release in this, a path to nirvana. The whimper that follows sounds like surrender, but not surrender into sub space.

It sounds like a repressed, "Please…please, make it stop,"

Kurt thinks about the times he's held Blaine in his arms, made love to him soft and slow, told Blaine that he loved him. When was the last time they'd done that? Why weren't they doing that now instead of this? Was this actually better than that? Kurt loves what he's doing with Blaine now, loves pushing and bending Blaine to his will, coloring within the lines that Blaine gives him to color. But Kurt loves the vanilla stuff, too. Kurt has always told Blaine not to be ashamed of what he enjoys. Kurt isn't ashamed. He finds pleasure in pain, too. He understands how that feels, the exhilaration that comes with shouldering past your comfort zone, getting to your breaking point and taking a step further. He loves that he can do that for Blaine. He considers it an honor.

But sometimes he wonders if he's going too far.

Like now, when Blaine's legs are beginning to slip out from under him, leaving a trail of blood on the sheets, his arms shaking so hard his shoulders won't keep still, and the only thing keeping his head aloft is the ball gag in his mouth.

Kurt makes the decision to call it without needing to hear Blaine's safeword. He puts the crop aside and says, "Red. I'm going to unhook you now." He unfastens the rig and lowers the hook, removing the end from Blaine's ass in case he passes out. That dealt with, he hurries to Blaine's front and unbuckles the leather straps of the ball gag to ensure Blaine can breathe.

"Pet? How are we doing, pet?" Kurt asks as he removes the red rubber ball. Blaine sighs, which is a relief, but it's still not an answer. "Pet? Can you tell me how you're feeling? Do you have any numbness? Any sharp tingling in your arms and legs? How about your back?" Kurt holds Blaine's shoulders and stares into his face, waiting for an answer. He watches Blaine breathe, shuddery but even, but so far, that's all he's gotten. "Blaine?" Kurt's confident streak wanes with every second that passes and Blaine doesn't speak. "Blaine…are you…are you alright?"

Blaine hums, but he doesn't open his eyes to look at Kurt. He hangs slightly - a limp, used thing, fighting to stay upright. He's failing steadily, but as long as those muscles are still trying, Kurt can find a tiny measure of comfort.

"Okay, pet," Kurt says. "I need to hear actual words from you."

Blaine murmurs vaguely, lips barely moving. It's got more voice to it, but it's still not a sentence, and Kurt doesn't like that. He wants to hear his pet speak. It's not like Kurt hasn't brought Blaine to this point before, but this time, something's different. But it's not different with Blaine, who smiles weakly with his head hanging on his shoulders, blissful and relaxed despite the swelling bruises on his ass. It's different with Kurt. Something inside Kurt has gone…off. He doesn't know. He can't explain it. That expression of serenity on Blaine's face, which goes hand in hand with the amount of trust Blaine has in Kurt, an almost child-like trust, hits Kurt in the heart, makes it hurt. Kurt gets back on the bed with Blaine. He rolls Blaine carefully onto his side, kicking the sandpaper beneath Blaine's knees onto the floor. He can't look at it. He doesn't want to see it. It's bad enough that the sheets are soaked red, but that sandpaper…that's a step too far.

Kurt draws Blaine into his embrace. Cradled in his arms, he unlocks Blaine's hands from the mitts and tosses them aside. Eager to shield his sub, protect him, Kurt wraps Blaine in a clean, dry blanket, one that Kurt had prepared, folded on the table beside the bed as part of their aftercare kit, along with bandages and antiseptic, Blaine's boxes of juice, and his bag of Goldfish crackers. Kurt wraps a shivering Blaine up like a burrito and holds him, burying his nose into his hair to plant kisses on his scalp.

"You were a good boy," Kurt mutters, rocking Blaine gently. Blaine is still hovering in that special place where everything is fuzzy and warm, and nothing hurts, and Kurt wants to let him stay there for as long as possible. "Such a good boy. You just…you just took that like a _champ_." Kurt chokes picturing it – the hits, the bruises, the blood welling on impact, the way Blaine's back went rigid, every nob of his spine showing through his skin with the strain. Kurt grabs the hem of the sheet to wrap Blaine tighter, to cocoon him, when he notices how red is seeping into the fibers of this sheet, too. Kurt feels a tear roll down his cheek. "And…and I'm sorry, Blaine. I'm so _so_ sorry. I promise, I'm never going to do that again. I'm never going to use that thing, or hit you that hard. I…"

Blaine begins to stir, but Kurt doesn't notice, rocking him back and forth, and focusing on the future – changing things for Blaine, even though he doesn't know how. Their dynamic had been perfect up till this moment. At least, Kurt had thought it was. How did it go so wrong? Kurt wishes he had put aside a blanket for himself. He feels so cold all of a sudden, his lips pressed together, his tongue numb. His cheek and his ears, down his back to his legs feel frozen. How can he give Blaine comfort when he feels so damn cold?

"Sir?" Blaine murmurs, the fog in his head clearing as Kurt continues to ramble apologies. "Sir?" And when Kurt doesn't respond, "Kurt? Honey?"

Kurt hears his name. He hears Blaine's voice call him by name, and he sobs.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine says, looking up at his Dom, "are you crying?"

"Wha-? No." It's Kurt's first reaction – not to lie, but to protect Blaine. Kurt doesn't want Blaine to see him weak. Kurt doesn't want Blaine to think he can't rely on him. Kurt runs fingers across his cheek and tries to sit up straight, but that weird sensation of cold has him hunched over and shaking. "No, I…"

"Kurt," Blaine says with surprising authority, "do you want me to hold you?"

Kurt nods. It's not even a question. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Blaine turns in Kurt's lap, in the blanket cocoon, and wraps his arms around him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I…I don't know. I…"

"Take your time," Blaine says, gently kissing Kurt's neck. "Take a deep breath. I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Kurt takes in a breath, and lets it out, trying to rearrange his pile of thoughts until they form coherent sentences. He has all of these emotions bouncing around, so sharp inside his brain, and yet everything else feels dull and numb. He's crashing, becoming detached from his body. Blaine somehow knows that. Maybe he recognizes it from the dozens of times it's happened to him.

"Here…wait a moment, Sir," Blaine says, crawling out of Kurt's arms. Kurt's arms tighten around him, but they're not strong enough to keep him from going. "I'm not going far. I'll just be a second."

Kurt lets him go, because he knows if there's one person who will be able to help, make all of this _wrong_ feel right again, it's Blaine. And Blaine doesn't go far, just to the table with the juice boxes and the crackers two grab two boxes of juice.

"Here, Sir…" Blaine pokes the pointed tip of the plastic straw through the foil seal. "You get grape, and I get apple." Kurt smiles at how sweetly Blaine says it, how "take control" he's behaving while still being Kurt's adorable pet. Kurt takes a few sips of his juice, feeling ridiculous sucking Welch's grape juice (which he hasn't had since he was twelve) through this teeny ass straw, but two mouthfuls later, life starts to return to normal. The cold and the shaky go away. Rational, un-muddied thought returns. He sees the situation clearer now, the way things were before. But the heavy in his heart remains. No amount of grape juice or Blaine's puppy dog face seems to make it go away.

"Do you feel any better, Sir?" Blaine asks as Kurt reaches the bitter end of his juice box.

"Yes, pet," Kurt says, putting the empty box on the floor. "I do. Much. Thank you."

"Did you…want to talk about it, Sir?" Blaine asks, taking small sips from his own juice box. Kurt watches the way Blaine's lips purse around the end of his straw, his cheeks dimpling as he sips. Kurt can't help noticing how young and wide-eyed and beautiful Blaine is. There's no need to burden him with this, Kurt decides. No reason to put this on his shoulders. Kurt becomes comfortable with the idea of blowing it off…until Blaine sits cross-legged, and winces in pain.

Then the hurt in Kurt's heart engulfs his entire chest. If he doesn't release it, it's going to carry him back under.

"I…I know we've talked about this," Kurt starts, even before he knows where he's going to finish. "I've mentioned that there are things that you like that I don't understand, and there are things that _I_ like that _you_ don't understand. And I respect you and I love you so much…and sometimes…" Kurt shakes his head. Or his whole body shakes. He doesn't know which, but Blaine nods in understanding as he waits for Kurt to continue. "I feel like I'm going too hard, that I'm really going to hurt you. And then…"

Kurt's sentence drops off, but Blaine being Blaine, knowing Kurt so well, picks up where Kurt leaves off.

"…you think I'm going to leave you?"

Kurt's mouth closes. No longer trusting his voice to answer, he nods. Kurt has never had that fear before. Relationships end – vanilla relationships, D/s relationships, platonic relationships. People in Kurt's life have come and gone, people he's been lukewarm about, and people he's really cared about, but he's been able to move past it. But Blaine is not like any one of those people. Blaine is special. Blaine is Kurt's sub, his lover, his best friend, his rock. Losing Blaine wouldn't just leave a hole in Kurt's heart; it would carve out a crater. Kurt has come to the realization in a relatively short amount of time that Blaine is it. He's the one. And Kurt, as independent a man as he's had to be his entire life, has now been split in two – the man who can make it on his own, and the man who needs Blaine in order to breathe.

If Blaine left, maybe the remaining half of Kurt would eventually fill in the hole, but it would be a long time before Kurt could remember how to breathe again.

"Kurt," Blaine says, "I'm alright. You didn't do anything wrong. You're a good man. You take care of me, remember? I'm here because I want to be here."

"Thank you for saying that," Kurt says. "I know you love me. I know you trust me. And that's why, sometimes I think…this dynamic isn't the best for you. That we should be different. _I_ should be different."

"But then we wouldn't be us." Blaine puts a hand on Kurt's hand. "Think about our entire time together, from the first time you met me till now. What were you thinking back then? What do you think now? Would you change any of it?"

The day they met is the easiest thing in the world for Kurt to recall. Watching Blaine audition on stage in front of Broadway producers with no fear; that huge, stadium voice coming out of that compact body, effortlessly; Blaine was simply captivating. Watching Blaine perform on stage, field questions, take comments and criticism, Kurt didn't think for one second that this man was a submissive, but Kurt was willing to make a play for him, to try his hand at a vanilla relationship if he had to just to have a chance with him. But once Kurt started to see Blaine's submissive tendencies shine through, because they are so much a natural part of him, everything between them seemed to fall into place. Sure it was rocky at first; all relationships are. But they eventually found their groove, and now, Kurt can't see himself without it - without his pet to come home to, without the obstacles they've overcome, without what they do together.

But mostly, Kurt can't see himself without Blaine.

"No," Kurt says. "I like our dynamic. I've come to depend on it. It's what I've dreamed about…and you. You're the ideal."

Blaine bites his lip and drops his eyes, the pink rising to his cheeks classic Blaine. "That's how I feel about you, Sir. You are my ideal."

"But not just you as a submissive, Blaine. _You_. Blaine Devon Anderson is my ideal match in every possible way. And if you ever wanted to change anything, or…or stop something…"

"I'll come to you," Blaine finishes. "But you have to come to me, too. You have to tell me how you're feeling. Tell me that you're unhappy, and we'll work through things together. There's nothing in our relationship that's make-or-break for me. I'm willing to compromise."

"I will, too."

Blaine sneaks back into his Dom's lap, the blanket around him nothing more than a sloppy toga, and pecks a kiss to Kurt's jaw. Kurt closes his eyes to really feel it, to feel everything – Blaine's body in his arms and their closeness, his incredible body heat, and even that vile wetness on the sheets. Kurt wants to feel it all, and to remember it, _this_ moment, for the next time doubt rises up this intensely within him again.

Because Kurt loves Blaine, so there will most likely be other times.

"Do you want me to clean up for you, Sir?" Blaine offers. "Put the toys away? Put new sheets on the bed?"

Kurt looks at Blaine - his strong, beautiful, caring pet - and smiles.

"Yes," Kurt says, "but I want us to do it together. We'll take care of your bruises, get you all washed up, and remake the bed. Then maybe we can read together, if you'd like that."

"I'd like that, Sir." Blaine gives his Dom one last hug before they get started. "And then…ice cream?" Blaine bounces on his sore ass cheeks, hopeful eyes fixed on Kurt's face, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

"Yes," Kurt says. "I could definitely go for some ice cream."


	9. Spaces

**Kurt sets Blaine to the task of tidying up their blog. While he does, Blaine is discouraged to discover the amount of rude remarks people have made, seemingly for the sake of just being rude.**

 *****Kurt and Blaine's blog was mentioned briefly in another one-shot, and I thought that considering things that have happened to me personally lately, this was a fitting one-shot to write. In D/s, we talk a lot about our "spaces". Spaces can be both private and public in nature, but basically they are where we feel comfortable plying our trade as Doms and subs. As with everything in D/s, spaces can be very personal, and can mean or be represented by a variety of different things. But the most important space a Dom and sub can have (in my personal opinion) is one another. I personally consider spaces sacred. You carve them out, make them your own. You put yourself into them. You can make them public, offer them to others who are like-minded in case they need a little bit of something that you have - strength, inspiration, solace. I think that sharing your space with others can be one of the most special gifts that one person can give to another. It's the most selfless when you offer that gift to a stranger. But spaces don't just belong to the D/s community. Any person's blog can be their space, no matter what the theme. A room in a house, a garden, a library, a favorite chair, even a book - if you find what you need there, it's your space. If you specifically go into someone else's space in order to belittle them, demean them, police them or criticize them, if you make their space feel unwelcome in any way, then you have my permission to suck sh*t through a tube. Warning for mention of bondage, shibari, and D/s elements.**

"Did you want a turkey sandwich on whole wheat for lunch, or a salmon burger on one of those nine grain buns we bought from Whole Foods, pet?" Kurt asks, perusing the contents of their refrigerator, trying to come up with a meal that's both healthy and light considering his sub's rigorous evening rehearsal schedule. To calm Blaine's nerves about starting work with a new choreographer, Kurt has set his pet to a task for the afternoon and decided to take care of lunch duty this time. Yes, cooking is one of Blaine's chores, and Kurt doesn't like to divert too much from Blaine's schedule, but he felt it more important to give Blaine a project to occupy his mind, something off the beaten path that he might enjoy to still his absently fidgeting fingers and silence his constantly tapping feet.

Besides, sometimes Kurt misses cooking for his man.

Kurt doesn't get a response to his question. In fact, the loft is quiet except for the angry clacking of computer keys coming from the kitchen table, where Kurt's sub sits, typing on his laptop.

"Pet? Turkey or salmon?" Kurt tries again, but when he doesn't get a reply a second time, he abandons their lunch choices and, curious, joins Blaine. He sees Blaine – back hunched and spine rigid, face two inches from the screen – pecking away at the keyboard as if each depression of the keys might result in real, physical pain to someone in the Internet-verse.

"What's up, pet?" Kurt asks, keeping his tone light but firm. "Tidying up the blog not going so well?"

"You can say that, Sir," Blaine mutters so murderously that Kurt jerks back a bit. He puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder and squeezes – not hard, but with definite purpose, and Blaine stops, his eyes and his hands dropping to his lap.

"Tell me," Kurt says.

Blaine sighs. "It's just…this is _our_ space, Sir. This is where we post our thoughts about our journey together, our feelings about our dynamic, and our experiences in our relationship, to chronical our time together. We love each other, we respect each other, we follow the rules of S.S.C. and R.A.C.K. and…"

"…and all the rest…"

"Right. So…" Blaine's eyes flick back to the screen, to a comment thread regarding one of their newly uploaded photographs – a black and white picture that Kurt had taken of Blaine during a recent Shibari workshop. Most people loved it; one or two people did not, and felt it necessary to make their dislike rudely known "…why the negative comments?"

"Well, for a lot of reasons, pet," Kurt says, massaging Blaine's shoulder, tense beneath his hand. "Some people don't understand everything we do, or how we work together. Maybe they haven't been in the scene all that long, they don't have much personal experience, or they haven't gotten their information from the right people." Kurt shrugs to himself. "Perhaps they think they're doing us a service."

Blaine scoffs under his breath. Kurt shakes his head. That's a reaction Kurt might normal reprimand Blaine for, but Kurt doesn't because he knows it's just Blaine seeing through the bullshit. He's not going to discipline his submissive for being intelligent.

"But," Kurt continues, "more often than not, it's just armchair domly doms trying to prove they're better than everyone else, showing that they think they know more. They believe that their way is the only way, or they just like the drama of calling people out for no good God dammed reason so they can seem superior. In real life, maybe they're dynamic doesn't work as well as they like people to think it does, or they don't like that someone else's dynamic works better, or maybe they just don't feel all that confident about themselves." Blaine's muscles relax, and Kurt moves on to the next shoulder, still locked tight and ratcheted up to Blaine's ear. "Anyway, they jump online, invade people's spaces, specifically if they know they're going to see something they don't agree with or don't like, and with the safety of anonymity as their shield, they shit on everyone else's good time. That's why they call them trolls, pet. They're ill-tempered and awful…and they live under bridges."

Blaine peeks up at his Dom, a half-smile on lips that are trying hard to frown, an eyebrow quivering to rise. "Technically, don't _we_ live under a bridge, Sir?"

"We live in New York, pet. Almost everyone lives under a bridge here. But _we_ live under an overpass." Kurt pinches Blaine's cheek, and the other half of Blaine's smile springs to life. "But that's not the point. We made the decision to put our story out there, as a way to contribute to the online community, but by doing that, we set ourselves up for both praise and ridicule." Kurt breathes in deep and exhales long. He doesn't like it any more than Blaine does, but it's the nature of the beast. Kurt has never run a blog like this with any of his other subs. It didn't seem necessary, partially because, in a way, Kurt knew that the journey he was taking with those other men was temporary. He had a good time with them, he even loved a few of them, but there was a limit to his time with them. He felt it almost from the start. But Blaine is special. Kurt is immensely proud of Blaine, proud of what they have together. Kurt wanted to show it off, and by doing so, maybe help other people who might be questioning along their journey. He'd been in the scene for a while now. And as much as he knows he has a lot to learn, he also felt he had much to teach. And their blog _has_ helped many people. He hears it all of the time from their Dom and sub followers. But with the good apples come the sour ones. Kurt wishes it was different, but he can't change other people; only himself. "You have to expect it, unfortunately, pet. But in the end, we all have our own way of doing things. We all practice D/s using our own methods and by our own rules. If the participants are consenting, aware of the risks they're taking, and doing everything they can to stay safe, that's all that really matters. You and I don't go into other people's spaces and criticize what they do, even when we don't agree with it. You'd think others would extend the same courtesy to us. We can tell people 'don't like, don't look' until we're blue in the face, but that obviously doesn't mean anything to some people. It's like they feel it's their responsibility to police us."

"Well, it's stupid, Sir," Blaine spits, smile dipping.

"Yes, it is," Kurt agrees, draping his arms loosely around Blaine's shoulders, hoping to see some of that smile come back. "But we can't let it bother us, because we're not doing anything wrong. They can't change us, Blaine. I won't let them," he whispers into Blaine's curls. Kurt stares at the photo on the screen of his gorgeous submissive, kneeling on a sleek wood floor, bound in a white rope that glows against Blaine's skin, his head bowed, eyes down, face relaxed – so still, so serene, so obedient.

So beautiful.

That peaceful beauty is contrasted by two vile comments underneath, both of them unsolicited remarks, one with regard to how amateurly the ropes are tied (even though this particular photograph was taken after the class's instructor - a Master in the art of shibari for the past four decades, having learned in Japan before moving to New York - had borrowed Blaine for the purpose of demonstration), and another that claimed that Blaine's posture in the photograph was atrocious, and that if he had a better Dominant to train him up properly, he'd be a better submissive.

Two people with impersonal URLs and generic avatar pictures, both who haven't made posts of their own, or written anything personal that they could be judged by, making commentary on something that doesn't concern them simply for the sake of seeing their names show up on a popular blog.

Kurt knows that Blaine is looking at it, too, not just by the reflection of his face in the darker portions of the screen, but from the heavy way he sighs in Kurt's embrace.

"And you know what, pet," Kurt decides out of umbrage that some unimportant, nameless peon could make his submissive feel down about himself this way, "we don't need to keep the blog."

Blaine's gaze snaps up. He catches Kurt's eyes through his reflection in the screen. "But…but we have friends here, Sir. _Real_ friends. And…I enjoy it."

"I do, too. But if it's causing you undue stress and frustration, if it's becoming a toxic space, I won't keep it in our lives. We have other spaces that aren't toxic. We have our loft, the club, and the dojo, and our friends in real life. Plus, do you know what the most important space we have is?"

Blaine thinks he knows, but he wants to hear his Dom say it. "What's that, Sir?"

"You and me." Kurt rubs a cheek along Blaine's curls, marveling at their softness against his skin. "Us. That's our most important space. You're my comfort space…" Kurt gives Blaine a squeeze.

"…and you're my safe space." Blaine puts his arms over Kurt's and squeezes back.

"That's right. And that's all that matters, pet. You and me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. I do." Blaine melts back against Kurt's shoulder, his head rolling to the side till his face nuzzles against Kurt's neck. He breathes in the scent of jasmine and vanilla that always has a way of making Blaine feel safe, making him feel at home as long as it comes from Kurt's skin.

"Now, about lunch…" Kurt says, eager to take Blaine's attention away from that stupid blog now that he's calm and centered again.

"Whichever you think is best, Sir, if that's alright with you."

Kurt smiles. There it is. Blaine's deference, which he gifts Kurt with every day. Blaine loves Kurt. He gives Kurt this power over him, this power to decide what's best for him because he trusts Kurt. This is them together, their space. It doesn't need any fancy toys or implements. It doesn't need to be advertised. It doesn't require anyone else's approval. It is what it is, and it works for them.

That's what's important.

"It is, pet," Kurt says, his fond grin for Blaine suddenly turning wicked. "And after we have our salmon, you're going to get yourself undressed, I'll have at you with that new dildo we bought, and we'll take more pictures for the blog. We'll make them _really dirty_ ," Kurt growls. "Something else for the trolls to spend their night complaining about. What do you say?"

"I say…" Blaine turns his head to meet Kurt's gaze nose-to-nose, "that sounds like an _inspired_ idea, Sir."


	10. Practice Makes Perfect

**Kurt helps Blaine prepare for his audition for Hedwig and the Angry Inch in rather unconventional ways.**

 **In this installment, I mix several different vocal techniques with tasks that increase stamina and focus. This was written more for fun than anything else, to be honest. Inspired in part by the book "A Soprano on Her Head".**

 **Warning for spanking with a ruler, mention of thumb tacks to keep Blaine on his toes, mention of performance anxiety, and implied fisting.**

 _Smack_.

The strike resonates throughout the open air of the loft - a loud, dull _thup_ against both Blaine's ass cheeks - this new swipe layered on top of older ones, lined up directly so that they manage to leave a single red stripe. Blaine doesn't get a second to contemplate the blow, to register the combination of sting/hot/tingle/burn that follows since he's expected, by his Dominant, to sing.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-maaaa."

 _Smack_.

"Again," Kurt commands, succinct and unnegotiable.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-maaaa."

 _Smack_.

"Change the vowel."

"Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-moooo."

 _Smack_.

"Now take it up a half step."

"Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-moooo."

 _Smack_.

"Better. But your _o's_ are too covered. Try it one more time. And make it brighter."

"Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-moooo."

 _Smack_.

"Mmm, that's a little better," Kurt remarks, not as impressed as he could be.

Not as impressed as Blaine _wants_ him to be. And Blaine wants Kurt to be impressed. He wants him to be proud. Blaine will stand there on the cold, hard floor, poised on the balls of his feet with tacks lined up on the ground beneath his heels to keep him that way, singing scales and arpeggios, hided till his ass is more welts than skin if it means hearing Kurt call him a _good boy_.

"Up another half step. And switch to _eee_."

"Me-me-me-me-me-me-me-me-meee."

 _Smack_.

"Lose the vibrato, pet. You're auditioning for _Hedwig_ , not a Wagner opera."

Blaine tries to swallow and almost coughs. His throat is getting dry, in part from singing, and in part from sucking in silently with every swat. But he'll have to wait for water. Maneuvering around a dry throat is something he'll need to learn if he's going to handle a role as vocally punishing as _Hedwig_.

In that vein, having Kurt take over as his vocal coach temporarily is ideal.

"Yes, Sir."

 _Smack, smack._

"Don't talk. Just sing. All three vowels now. E-flat scale. Go."

"Ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me…"

 _Smack_.

"You're a little too breathy over that break, Blaine."

"…ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-me-e-ma-mo-meeee."

 _Smack_.

"Better. From the beginning. C-major. Go."

The wooden ruler Kurt wields slices through the air one more time before Blaine can take a proper deep breath and open his mouth. It leaves rectangular scarlet welts on Blaine's skin. Blaine feels them sprouting with every blow, but he doesn't let them derail him. They're an integral part of this exercise. Each hit is a tool towards improving his stamina as well as his tone. He has dancing and singing in heels pretty much down. But an entire performance in heels while climbing on sets, leaping, running, singing in a style he's unfamiliar with…

Blaine had put a ton of work into his performance in _Kinky Boots_. It's been a marathon from day one. But compared to that, _Hedwig_ is the Ironman Triathlon.

Blaine's agent found out about the audition for _Hedwig_ shortly before _Kinky Boots_ switched casts, and he felt that Blaine would be unmatched in the role. Blaine had experience that few people vying for the part would have, the kind of experience that the casting director was fiending for in a lead actor. Blaine's vocal coach agreed that Blaine would be perfect, but he'd need to improve his range. It became thready at the upper range when it needed to be thicker, grungy. They worked for a week trying to get Blaine past that _thin_ point, but he just couldn't quite get there.

When Blaine came home one evening distressed, lamenting to his Dom that he was having trouble, Kurt stepped in to assist. Blaine hadn't expected that, but he was honored and thrilled. Kurt had been performing most of his life, just like Blaine, but Kurt's vocal range, as far as Blaine was concerned, was extraordinary. Superhuman. Why more agents aren't knocking down Kurt's door, Blaine would never know. But as much as Kurt hopes to perform on Broadway someday, he's happy where he is, working at _Vogue_ and living vicariously through Blaine.

Kurt started Blaine off easy, mixing traditional forms of vocal exercise with body repositioning and passive distraction. Once Kurt mapped out Blaine's range from low to high, chest voice to head tones to falsetto, he moved on to less conventional methods. Kneeling with Blaine's ankles off the floor was the first step. Changing to a position that forced him to lengthen his torso in order to maintain his balance helped keep his lower abdomen tucked and strengthened his breathing, adding power to his mid-range. Once that became a cinch, Kurt added a cock cage, one that was a half size too tight. The constant distraction of trying to control his cock in the cage was a practice in allowing muscle memory to take over when his nerves sabotaged him.

Then they moved on to Blaine standing upright with legs together, knees locked and slightly bent, arms outstretched, holding books in the palms of his supinated hands – more distraction, more core strengthening, more focus on breathing overall, while working at maintaining his posture, all in the same style platform boots he'd be wearing as Hedwig.

The addition of a wine glass filled to the brim with water made it all the more sadistic since he was spanked for every drop that left the glass.

Recently, they moved on to this – Blaine bent over the kitchen table, balancing on his toes to keep from leaning against his diaphragm, practicing his scales while Kurt spanks his bare ass with a ruler.

It's not the cane, but it can smart just as badly, especially when it comes dangerously close to his balls.

But preparing for Blaine's audition is a process. Once Kurt is satisfied that Blaine's voice (and his ass) are sufficiently warmed up, they move on to part two.

Practicing Blaine's audition piece – _Sugar Daddy_.

Kurt won't admit it to Blaine just yet, but he thinks Blaine already sounds spectacular. He's a shoe-in for the role. Only a couple of tweaks are necessary to ensure that he blows the competition out of the water, that the only name that John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask remember when he walks out of his audition is Blaine Devon Anderson.

And Kurt is going to make sure he gets Blaine there.

"How are you feeling, pet?" Kurt asks, massaging Blaine's sore and stinging cheeks, kneading broken skin roughly with cruel fingers. "You feeling good?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says, fighting not to back into Kurt's touch. He's to remain motionless as Kurt fondles him.

Motionless as Kurt prepares him for the next step.

All Blaine needs to do is concentrate on his music…and relax his ass.

Kurt gives his pet an appreciative slap to see if Blaine finches. Blaine nearly does, but he's able to restrain it.

"You feeling confident? You ready to tackle that song?"

"Yes, Sir."

Kurt's hands disappear from Blaine's ass. The cool air on his skin is a refreshing change of pace, but Blaine knows not to rely on it. It won't last long enough to offer him any real relief. Blaine hears the snap of a latex glove as Kurt pulls one onto his hand, then the pop of a flip top bottle.

From here on out, the real work begins.

"Great. We're going to pick up where we left off yesterday, but this time, we're going to see how you do with all five fingers in."


	11. Respect

**While eating lunch with Blaine at the school where he teaches, Kurt entertains the idea of dominating his submissive in the tiny office/closet they're in. But after he realizes just how triggering that might be for Blaine, Kurt changes his mind.**

 ** _***This takes place earlier in Kurt and Blaine's relationship, while Blaine is still working as a teacher an just beginning in the musical Kinky Boots. A lot of times when people discuss "respect" in the vein of D/s, it's about how a submissive should respect their Dominant. This one-shot focuses on how a Dominant respects their submissive. There are many ways that a Dominant might choose to assert themselves on their submissive in order for the submissive to prove their obedience and loyalty. Some Dominants will actually require their submissive to perform acts that are triggering in order for their submissive to prove their service. I personally have never believed in this. In my mind, it is my responsibility to care for and protect my submissive from things that will hurt them physically and mentally. So what purpose does it serve to force them to do something triggering to prove their loyalty? To me, it feels too cruel. In fact, it feels like a betrayal. If someone trusts you with their triggers, you should do your best to avoid them, not use them for your own purpose. To each their own, but that's my personal opinion. Also, at the end, we see how Kurt views humiliation, which may be slightly different to how other people view humiliation._**

"So, _this_ is a New York public school," Kurt says with a derisive sniff as Blaine leads him into the office/utility closet where he normally eats his lunch. Since most of Blaine's lunch hours are spent in conference with parents or grading papers, the school _graciously_ allowed him this hovel to work in _on his own time_. Blaine had mentioned to Kurt that he doesn't think he's spent more than four days eating lunch with the other faculty since he started working there. Blaine doesn't really care. He doesn't get along with most of them anyway. He doesn't appreciate having to work over lunch, but he prefers talking to people one-on-one as opposed to trying to keep up with a conversation as part of a loud group.

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says, dropping the volume of his voice until he closes the door, securely shutting two nosy receptionists and the vice principal outside. Blaine may be one of a dozen part time teachers, and therefore utterly unforgettable, but anyone who's ever read an issue of _Vogue_ in the last five years has seen Kurt Hummel's face.

And those three women outside definitely read _Vogue_.

"Well, I don't know what I expected, but this is…upsetting," Kurt remarks as Blaine pulls out his chair.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir," Blaine replies, with shame and a bowed head, as if Kurt's judgment wasn't just a slight against the school where Blaine works, but against him as well.

Kurt doesn't necessarily mean to sound snobbish. After all, Kurt attended public schools for the majority of his life.

An image of McKinley High School flashes through his mind – the small metal lockers; the outdated books; the French teacher who didn't actually know a word of French; the underfunded arts program in contrast to the consistently spoiled jocks – and Kurt amends that thought.

Yes. Yes, he does mean to be a snob. Public schools sucked back in Ohio, and apparently they suck in New York, too. So, fucks to you, New York City School District! But he regrets making Blaine feel ashamed of where he works when the state of his place of employment is nowhere near his fault. Besides, regardless of how Blaine is treated here, he seems to enjoy _parts_ of his job. He feels it's a calling, and Kurt can respect that. But Kurt feels that Blaine was meant for something more, which is why Kurt constantly reminds him that this role he earned in _Kinky Boots_ needs to be his priority. Getting his star on Broadway is his priority, even if it means that Blaine quits his job and, for a while, Kurt flips the bills.

Blaine says he doesn't feel right with Kurt supporting him, and as much as Kurt objects, he respects that, too. So often Kurt comes across submissives who are looking for a Dominant to take care of their _everything_ , and there's nothing wrong with that. Many Dominants prefer it. It comes as part of the 1950s aesthetic that a lot of male Dominant/female submissive pairs subscribe to, and if that dynamic works for them, then power to them. There's much of it that Kurt finds desirable; some that he's incorporated into his dynamic with Blaine. But it's nice to see Blaine have such an admirable work ethic, nice to know that Blaine wants to make his mark in the world, and teaching is definitely a noble place to make that mark.

But at some point Blaine has to realize that Kurt paying the bills while Blaine gets his footing in the theater world isn't Kurt supporting him. Blaine provides Kurt with things in his life that no amount of money can buy. Blaine gives Kurt love, loyalty, obedience, and domain over his body. Blaine gives Kurt his deference, he gives Kurt someone to care for. They support each other. Blaine supports Kurt with every rule he follows, every chore he completes, every command he obeys, and that doesn't have anything to do with money.

"I'm sorry I'm not a little more prepared, Sir," Blaine apologizes, scurrying to get the table clean and their lunch set up. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have…figured something out."

"But then it wouldn't have been a surprise," Kurt teases, trying to lighten Blaine's mood. Kurt knows what that pause in Blaine's sentence meant. Had he known that Kurt was coming, he would have bent over backward to find a way to make this small room presentable, but the truth is he wouldn't have known where to find the time. This school runs Blaine around like a chicken with its head cut off. It took an insane amount of convincing on Kurt's part, and eventually a considerable amount of name dropping for him to get whoever-never at the front desk to clear Blaine's lunch schedule for this one hour so that Kurt could share a meal with him.

That's a lot of strings to pull and tape to cut through to get one hour's audience with a man who works part time for minimum wage.

Kurt grimaces after a third Lysol cleaning wipe that Blaine runs over the tabletop comes up filthy and he fishes into the container for a fourth. Kurt's poor, overworked pet eats his lunch in this detestable, windowless, hole-in-the-wall almost every single afternoon. Kurt sucks a subconscious breath in, but stops halfway when the scent of must and mildew invades his nose. The very air they're breathing right now must be filled with dust and Lord-only-knows-what other disease causing particulates. Seeing as this lousy school is constantly on Blaine's case over every blessed thing, Kurt would expect them to hold themselves to a higher standard. Too bad he can't swoop Blaine up in a cab and take him to his office at _Vogue_ for lunch. Or The Four Seasons. But they don't have the time. And Kurt can't just leave, even if it is for the sake of his own health. Blaine had looked so excited (albeit terrified) when Kurt surprised him at work. It would be cruel to cut their lunch date short.

Blaine doesn't deserve to be here anymore than Kurt does. Walking down here, looking around the brown building, with its brown hallways, and this little brown excuse for an office, Kurt has never been more convinced that the New York Department of Education does not deserve to have a gem like his pet languishing in their employ.

"So, how's your day been so far?" Kurt asks.

Blaine gives up on the cleaning and lays out several large strips of butcher paper from a nearby roll.

"It's been…well, you know…it's been alright, Sir," Blaine stutters, sitting in the seat across from Kurt when Kurt nods for him to do so.

"Has it really?"

Blaine sighs, eyes shifting uneasily left and right as he unpacks their lunch from a foil container that Kurt brought with him. "No, Sir. But, you know, the walls have ears."

Emphasizing that point, they hear a smattering of laughter from the other side of the door (a door that, Kurt couldn't help but notice, doesn't have a lock), as well as bits of conversation coming through a vent overhead, which probably feeds in from faculty lounge, since a gruff voice (that reminds Kurt of his dad) is jawing loudly about the upcoming presidential primaries.

"Ah" – Kurt winks – "I understand."

Despite the gritty atmosphere and the despicable accommodations that have thoroughly offended Kurt's senses, the thought of taking Blaine here - with someone possibly listening, maybe accidentally walking in – excites Kurt.

It would be nice if it excited Blaine, too. Maybe give him something to think about when he's stuck in this stuffy room, being complained at by irate parents, or lectured to by some self-important office clerk over Blaine's _supposed_ overindulgent photocopier usage.

"You know" - Kurt moves his chair closer to Blaine's as Blaine prepares Kurt's ahi and watercress salad, tearing the top from its take-out container and setting the bottom on an offset stack of napkins - "I could bend you over this table and take you from behind…tie your arms behind your back with your slacks, stuff your underwear in your mouth so you won't make a sound, with the receptionists sitting right outside, their ears pressed against the door. You'd be a good boy, wouldn't you? A quiet boy?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says, swallowing heavily. "I would, Sir." He stops serving, going painfully still. "B-but…w-would you do that…Sir?"

Kurt pauses before he answers to see what more Blaine might do or say, but he simply waits, hands in stasis above a cluster of Grenache grapes, for a response, or a command, from his Dom. As cruel as it may seem, Blaine's obvious fear over this situation is sublime to Kurt. Blaine's muscles tensing in his struggle for restraint, praying silently in his head that they wouldn't get caught, would be like a _flambé_ beneath Kurt's tongue – too fucking hot to handle. Fucking in a public place, possibly getting caught is one of Kurt's favorite taboos. And besides, what would Kurt care if they _did_ get caught? What's the worse Blaine's boss could do? _Fire_ Blaine?

Then let them fire him. At least Kurt would have finally gotten a chance to show these asshats that Blaine belongs to _him_ , not them. It would so neatly solve Kurt's problem for him. Blaine would be away from this job and all the bullshit stress that comes with it.

But even though Blaine's trembling hands make Kurt salivate, Kurt can't do that to him. Kurt can tell by the way Blaine's lips have become tight and thin, the thought is triggering for him.

"I could, pet," Kurt says darkly, enjoying the sadism of this moment a second longer. "You know I could." He sees Blaine hold his breath, but he no longer looks afraid. He looks defeated, as if his Dom, who Blaine knows loves him above all things, commanding him to do that here, would be but one of a dozen nails in a coffin that's being repeatedly pounded shut day after day after week after month. Kurt can't let Blaine think that he could be one of the people in line to swing the hammer. "But, no, baby. I wouldn't do that to you here. My office, definitely. The subway, maybe. The restroom at The Four Seasons, possibly. But not here." Kurt puts a hand to Blaine's cheek and caresses it gently. "I know you'd do it. You're such a good boy. But I also know this isn't a healthy place for you. I don't need you to prove your loyalty here. I have no wish to make your day any more stressful than it's already been. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Blaine exhales, and after that tension leaves his body, his whole demeanor changes. He's more relaxed, lighter, and Kurt can't help feeling proud. Sure, Kurt could assert himself. Blaine has given him that power. But having that power doesn't mean that Kurt gets to exercise it blithely. It's a gift, and it's been given to him because Blaine trusts Kurt to use it wisely, and carefully. If Kurt takes what he wants now, _he'll_ be satisfied, but his submissive will be miserable. That's not the way their dynamic works. Kurt doesn't take just for the sake of taking. Taking, in Kurt's mind, should leave Blaine with the satisfaction that he served his Dominant, even if the circumstances are less than comfortable for Blaine. They've overcome that obstacle at home with rousing success. And maybe Blaine could find it in himself to feel that satisfaction if Kurt took him here. But it would also come on the back of a host of other overwhelmingly negative emotions that Blaine doesn't need.

One of them being humiliation in front of people who don't deserve the honor of seeing Blaine humiliated.

"But…you're making it up to me when we get home," Kurt says, grinning ear to ear with a slew of ideas as to _how_.

Eyes dipped down, shy smile spreading, Blaine pulls a grape from the bunch, the plumpest he can find, and reaches across the table to drop it into his Dom's waiting mouth. "Of course, Sir. I look forward to it."


	12. The Care and Feeding of Blaine Anderson

**When Blaine ends up having a severe allergic reaction to some makeup from the theater, Kurt vows to spare no expense to make sure that Blaine is taken care of and comfortable … which is something that Kurt's sub isn't exactly comfortable with.**

 _ **A/N: I would say that this takes place fairly early on in their relationship. Here we see some of Blaine's issues that he's brought into the relationship with him. He's uncomfortable with Kurt spending money on him, and he doesn't really feel that he's worth the kind of attention that Kurt pays to him. It also shows some of the subtle ways that Kurt dominates Blaine non-sexually in public. Inspired in part by this conversation post/152386191146/if-you-were-my-submissive-thered-be-no-spa-days.**_

 _ **Warning for light angst, self-esteem issues, mention of BDSM situations, and mention of an allergic reaction. Also there's a bit of mild Cooper bashing in here, too. Sorry about that ;)**_

"So, you're sure this is a strong enough prescription?" Kurt asks, fidgeting in the thin plastic seat of the pharmacy lobby as they wait for Blaine's name to be called. "You don't need something stronger, because this …" Kurt gestures to Blaine's irritated arms with a sympathetic whimper "… just looks so … so _painful_."

"It's not, Sir. Don't worry." Blaine shifts positions to hide his arms, but his Dom grabs them by the elbows. "And yes, this antihistamine should be fine. It looks worse than it really is," he lies.

"Have you _ever_ had a reaction this severe before?" Kurt gingerly turns Blaine's arms over to look at the undersides. The sensitive skin of his forearms have turned a shade of brick red that Kurt has never seen on human skin before. That's saying something considering the number of years Kurt has spent working backstage during theatrical performances and fashion shows, having seen (at least, he thought) every allergic reaction to makeup, product, and fabrics known to man. Along with the splotchy discolored patches, Blaine's skin is covered in a bevy of prickly bumps. Just looking at Blaine's sandpaper-esque rash makes Kurt itch, so much so that he has to consciously stop himself from scratching.

"Not since I was a kid, Sir," Blaine says, fighting the same urge. "Not since my brother … you know …"

"Yes, I know." Kurt reacts bitterly, resisting snapping out the question _And how is the failed actor Cooper Anderson doing lately? Has he done the world a favor and dropped dead yet?_ Because even though things have gotten better between Blaine and his brother, from what Kurt can tell, he's still the same unapologetically conceited and narcissistic asshole that's ever rented a room at the Flushing YMCA.

Kurt takes a mental breath and sighs internally. That judgment might be unnecessarily harsh ( _might_ be), and Kurt digresses …

"Well, doesn't that buffoon the theater has doing your makeup remember that you have sensitive skin?"

"Yes, Sir." Blaine doesn't automatically leap to her defense since she's not exactly his favorite person in the world, but this time, he has to admit, it wasn't entirely her fault. "It wasn't the makeup she was using that caused the flair up. I think it was the brushes. She didn't clean them in between because someone else borrowed them and …"

"Well, we'll get you your own set of brushes then," Kurt interrupts before Blaine can start making excuses for someone else who should have known better, who wasn't doing the job they were hired and paid good money to do. "You'll take care of them properly, and keep them under lock and key." He fusses with Blaine's sleeves, rolling them up so they don't further aggravate his rash. "This way you won't get any cross-contamination."

"A new set of makeup brushes … that's going to be expensive, Sir," Blaine remarks quietly, stating the fact as plainly as possible so it doesn't sound like an outright objection.

"P-shaw." Kurt teasingly dismisses Blaine's discomfort, not because it doesn't matter to Kurt, but because Blaine is going to have to get used to Kurt spending money on him whether he's comfortable with it or not. "You forget, I work for _Vogue_. Morphe and Sigma both would shit gold marbles if I made a personal request for a full set of their latest professional line brushes."

Blaine smiles timidly at that image. "But … you shouldn't do that just for me, Sir."

"First off, don't tell me what I should and should not do, pet," Kurt says sternly. "Second, I've done it for myself _tons_ of times. I can sure as hell do it for you. I'll give them a plug or something in the _Best Looks for Fall_ insert. That should even things out."

"As long as it's not a big deal, Sir."

Kurt looks sideways at his dejected submissive, annoyed at his constant reluctance. "Well _this_ …" Kurt squeezes Blaine's upper arms "… is a _big deal_ , so it's _necessary_. I'm not going to have you itching up a storm when you should be focused on practicing your songs and your choreography."

"Anderson?" a voice calls out. "Blaine Anderson?"

"That's us." Kurt stands from his uncomfortable seat before Blaine can make it to his feet.

"Now, it says here this is a refill of your prescription," the smiling blonde behind the counter, wearing blue pharmacy scrubs and a bun in her hair, says as both men approach. "But would you like a pharmacy consult?"

"No." Blaine shakes his head, taking the white paper bag with his medicine inside. "No, thank you. I don't need one."

"I have a question," Kurt asks, subtly grabbing hold of Blaine's belt before he can walk away. "How quickly will that antihistamine work? And how long before the rash goes away? I mean, Mr. Anderson wears body makeup for work, and I don't want the rash to get worse before it gets better."

"Model?" the lady asks, her smile notching up at the edges.

"Actor," Kurt answers with a proud grin. "Here on Broadway, as a matter of fact."

"Ah," the lady says. "We get quite a few Broadway folks in here."

"Is that so?"

"Yup. That's one of the benefits of being this close to the theater district. We had Lin-Manuel Miranda come in last week to buy cough syrup for his son." She sighs happily as she recalls, for one moment, that glorious afternoon. "In your case, you can get a barrier cream that will keep the makeup away from the rash ..."

"I see," Kurt says, having assumed as much.

"… but you're probably going to need to buy a different primer then. A lot of the barrier creams we sell are petroleum based, and that can cause a water based primer to slide."

"Yes …" Kurt nods thoughtfully. "That makes sense. What about a lanolin based barrier? Something more natural, that'll absorb into the skin faster?"

"That could work if he was doing anything other than performing on stage." She glances at Blaine with the unsettling realization that they're talking about this grown man as if he weren't standing right there. But Blaine keeps his eyes glued to the bag in his hands, seemingly okay with not being a part of the conversation. And since the man standing right in front of her is asking the questions, she might as well answer them. "Even our best lanolin cream heats up something fierce with excessive activity and under bright lights. It would help the rash heal, but it would be extremely uncomfortable. And again, it may cause his makeup to shift." The lady peeks left and right, then leans over the counter. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course," Kurt says, inching in himself.

"The stuff we sell here, it's not that effective for what you need. Even the stuff labeled _professional_ is nowhere near the level of a professional product. I would say that for a Broadway performer, you might want to check out what they have in skin care at Sephora."

"Sephora," Kurt repeats with a grin. " _Now_ you're talking my language." He stands up straight and rubs his hands together. "I think it's time I go cash in my reward points." He shoots a wink at Blaine, who isn't looking directly at him, so he redirects it at the lady behind the counter. "Thank you ever so much for your advice, miss."

"You're certainly welcome," she says, beaming brightly. "Have a nice day now."

"We will," Kurt assures her.

She watches the two men curiously as Kurt snaps his fingers and Blaine falls in line behind him. She would say that the man she'd just been speaking with, who smelled like peppermint and confidence and dressed like a certified fashion icon, was treating his boyfriend (she assumes) like a dog, and that should offend her. But then again, this is New York, and one man snapping his fingers for another one to follow isn't the _strangest_ thing she's seen today.

That honor might go to the man in the purple straw hat she saw this morning, yelling insults at the STOP sign he was accusing of cheating on him.

Blaine waits until they've walked out the door of the pharmacy, then says, "Sir, may I speak?"

"You may," Kurt answers, slowing his pace to walk beside his pet while he speaks.

"Sephora," Blaine says, crinkling the bag in his hands. "The stuff there gets kind of expensive, doesn't it?"

"It's expensive because it's worth it, pet."

"But … don't I get a say in this, Sir?" Blaine asks softly.

"No, pet."

"Doesn't it matter that you spending money on me makes me … uncomfortable?"

"Blaine" - Kurt stops and pulls his sub aside - "it does and it doesn't. It matters to me because everything you feel matters to me. But it doesn't matter to me because you're being stubborn and not seeing the big picture. And that's what _I'm_ here for, pet. I look after you when you refuse to look after yourself."

"But … are you sure all of this is even _necessary_?" Blaine tries. "I'm sure the stuff they sell here will work just fine. It is a pharmacy, after all."

"Didn't the director put calamine lotion on your rash when you showed it to him, pet?" Kurt huffs.

"Yes …" Blaine says, shrinking because he knows where this is headed.

Kurt grabs Blaine's arm, gently but firmly, and holds the red skin up to his face. "Do you really think it did the job, Blaine? Do you honestly want to take that chance just to save a few bucks that aren't even yours? Tell me, Blaine. What's the big objection to us getting something that's going to make your life easier?"

Blaine's head falls, his eyes finding the white and grey concrete beneath his shoes and not leaving it. He hears Kurt sigh, but he doesn't know if it's a calming sigh or a frustrated sigh. Blaine sees Kurt's point. He really does. But eschewing "luxury items" is more than a habit for Blaine. Cutting costs and trimming corners has been a way of life for him. It's what he's had to do to survive on a teacher's salary. And he's been doing it for so long, he doesn't know how to stop.

But that's not his only concern.

"I … I just don't know if I'm worth all of this, Sir."

Kurt's eyebrows shoot so far to his hairline that he's certain they've popped off his head. Blaine doesn't see it, or he may have laughed regardless of obedience and discipline.

"Are you kidding me, Blaine!? _Of course_ you're _worth it_! Would you have gotten that part in the first place if you weren't _worth it_? Would the theater have worked around your stupid school work schedule if you weren't _worth it_? Would I be doing this for you at all if I didn't think you were _worth it_?" He puts his hands to Blaine's cheeks, caressing skin flushed from a public scolding. But the heat that immediately floods Blaine's skin at Kurt's touch is altogether different; his reaction to one simple touch intoxicating. "This is just the beginning for you, Blaine. Acting and singing – you have a _tremendous_ talent that has to be nurtured and cared for. Your body is your instrument. That means we take care of your skin, your nails, your hair, and your voice. It's not vanity, Blaine. It's a necessity. An investment, as far as I'm concerned."

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says. "If you say so, Sir."

"I do say so, pet. Now, would you do me a huge favor and trust me? Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing? Isn't that what you agreed to do when you signed that contract with me?"

"Yes, Sir. I did. And I do."

"Then no more of this, Blaine. None of this arguing, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir."

Kurt slides in closer, coming cheek to cheek with Blaine so he can whisper in his ear. "You are _mine_ , Blaine. You are my submissive, my slave, my object, my doll, my possession. That's what you agreed to. But first and foremost, you are my lover, and my best friend. If you need something to make your life better, something you can't get for yourself or _won't_ get for yourself, then I'm going to buy it for you. End of story. And you will use it the way I tell you to, or God help me, there will be _consequences_."

"Y-yes, Sir," Blaine answers, his voice shuddering at the thought of consequences, whatever they may be.

"Besides," Kurt continues, "it's not like you won't be paying me back …" Kurt feels Blaine's eyes lift in the flutter of his eyelashes against Kurt's thumbs resting on his cheekbones. "With your mouth or in your ass, on your knees or on your back, with my cuffs or with my whips, one way or another …" Kurt hears Blaine gulp and he smiles, happy to see self-conscious Blaine gone for the time being and his beautiful submissive return "… because what you do for me, Blaine, is worth a hell of a lot more to me than money."


	13. The New Bed

**Kurt has a surprise for Blaine, something he designed himself …**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'bed' and dedicated to itallstartedwithharry as an apology for taking so long on the other fic I'm writing for her :)**

 **Warnings for Dom/sub.**

"Okay, pet. Step carefully. I don't need you twisting an ankle."

"Wh-where are we going, Sir?" Blaine asks, smile bright beneath the blindfold covering his eyes.

"I have a little surprise for you, pet. Something I've been designing for some time now."

Blaine bites his lips together to keep from yelling, "I knew it!" Because he didn't know it. He _suspected_. Kurt is good at keeping secrets, but when it comes to gifts, rewards, or surprises, he's not as patient a man as he claims to be. When he keeps a secret for too long, Blaine can see it wear on him.

There's a notebook Kurt has been working in almost since the week after they met. It's not one of his design sketchbooks. It's something older, worn, and personal. He doesn't leave it out where Blaine might accidentally find it, and he only works in it when Blaine is otherwise occupied. To date, Blaine hasn't seen the thing fully. He doesn't know if it's thick or thin, if the cover is cardboard or leather, if the pages are heavy or translucent.

But it's within this book that Blaine is certain Kurt plans all of the devious things he wants to do to him.

"Just a few more steps, pet." Kurt's voice sinks into Blaine's skin, the words rumbling in Blaine's stomach, stirring up excited and apprehensive nerves alike. " _Annnnd_ … stop. Okay. We're here."

If Blaine had to guess, he'd say they're in the bedroom. Kurt made sure to march him around the loft in a zigzaggy loop, changing directions twice in order to confuse him, but the place isn't that big. If nothing else, Blaine can tell by the sun heating his left cheek that they've stopped right by the bedroom window.

But he's not going to say a word.

"Alright, on the count of three …" Blaine feels Kurt untie the knot at the back of his head. "One … two … three!"

Kurt drops the blindfold.

Blaine drops his jaw.

Blaine had made no assumptions as to what the thing Kurt was designing in secret might be. Kurt designed clothes for a living. He's designed outfits for Blaine to wear when they go out to dinner, or to functions at _Vogue_. He's also made him several things that Blaine only wears in private. But fashion isn't the limit to Kurt's artistic abilities. He's designed window fronts, furniture, a couple of their toys, he's even designed the interior of a concept car for a charity auction - a _Vogue_ limited edition BMW 328i, the only one of its kind in the world, owned by Gisele Bundchen.

"Wh-what is it, Sir?"

"Why, it's our new bed, pet," Kurt says.

If the definition of a bed required that there only be a frame and something that resembles a mattress, even if it's as thin as military issue bedroll, then yes, the thing standing in front of Blaine is a bed.

"We needed a new bed, Sir?" Blaine asks, glancing curiously between the king size bed they usually sleep in to this new monstrous creation.

"Well, as we don't have the benefits of a private dungeon at our disposal, I took the liberty of having this made," Kurt whispers into his pet's neck. "Do you like it?"

Blaine wants to say _Yes_! without hesitation or doubt, but he shudders as he looks at the thing. Aside from the regular four posts, it's the numerous additions that take it out of the safety of bed territory; so many additions that trying to focus on one gives Blaine a serious headache. The frame is covered in hooks of all sizes, some with ropes or rubber straps already threaded into them. There are pulleys on every corner – top, middle, and bottom. The headboard looks like it doubles as a St. Andrew's Cross if Blaine kneels on the inch thick wooden edge. He sees brackets for a swing, an overhead suspension harness, hookups and grounds for some sort of electrical device …

… and underneath the foot of it, there's an iron cage, barely big enough for a full grown human to lie down in if they curl up in the fetal position.

The thing looks more like a medieval torture device than a bed.

It makes Blaine immensely hard and painfully retracted all at the same time.

Kurt's hard-on rutting against Blaine's crack leaves no unanswered questions as to how Kurt feels about it.

"Come on, pet. Don't hold your tongue," Kurt teases with a hint of sadism in his tone. "What do you think?"

"Uh … if you don't mind me saying so, Sir …"

"Yes, pet?"

"It doesn't look very comfortable."

"Oh, it's not meant to be comfortable," Kurt condescends, massaging Blaine's shoulders with strong hands, "but you'll get used to it. Since _that's_ where you're going to be spending most of your nights from now on."


	14. Starring Role

**Eager to officially christen their new bed, Kurt decides to let their blog followers decide how next to play with Blaine. If Kurt gets 500 responses, he's promised to livestream the results.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts 'audience' and 'bed'.**

 **Warning for Dom/sub, sensory deprivation, and mention of Electroplay.**

"So, we've had the poll up for thirty-six hours now," Kurt says for his webcam, currently set to audio only, as he strolls through the bedroom of the loft, collecting the instruments he'll need for their first ever livestreamed session. Ever since the arrival of their new bed, Kurt has been dying to push Blaine's limits even further - add humiliation, and not just by letting other people choose what Kurt gets to do to him. No, this time, when Kurt posted their monthly _How Should I Play with Pet?_ poll on their blog, Kurt promised their followers that if they hit five hundred responses, he'd livestream it.

Twenty-four hours before the deadline, they logged over a thousand replies. Even now, as they're closing in on the wire, the responses keep on coming.

The theme of tonight's session, chosen by an almost unanimous vote from their followers?

Electroplay.

"Well, well, well," Kurt had laughed as he got Blaine ready for the night, "it looks like our followers want to see you lit up like a Christmas tree."

Kurt has Blaine secured in a leather sensory deprivation hood that covers his whole head. A noise-canceling headset over his ears blocks out any remaining sound. A set of four holes – two at the nose and two at the mouth – provide Blaine with air so he can breathe. Not only does this serve Kurt's sadistic purposes, but it also ensures that those gathering around their computer screens for a virtual seat to this performance won't be able to see Blaine's face. As Blaine becomes more and more popular on Broadway, they've started getting asks along the lines of, "Hey, aren't you that guy starring in _Kinky Boots_?" To which Kurt sends back the form letter response, "No, but W/we get that a lot."

Kurt has also resorted to wearing a mask himself, since anyone who reads _Vogue_ can most likely recognize his face. Being recognized for performing sadistic acts online may turn out to be problematic for his career, though he's convinced that Isabelle could find a way to swing it back to positive publicity for the magazine. She's magical that way.

Kurt adjusts the camera angle to capture the best possible view, and when he's satisfied that people are going to get their sixty minutes' worth, he turns the visual on.

"Hello, hello, ladies and gentleman," Kurt announces, "and welcome to our first ever livestreamed performance of _How Should I Play with My Pet?_ As per the results of our poll, the four toys we'll be using tonight are this electrified cock corset …" With his middle finger, Kurt flicks Blaine's penis strapped up tight in a black leather sheath "… sent to us by follower SubKitty24. Thank you, darling. Next we have the Mystim Curving Curt electrical prostate stimulator …" Kurt grabs Blaine's right knee and pulls up, forcing Blaine's ass cheeks apart and exposing the curly end of the black silicone device in his rectum "… which was a birthday present from yours truly. Our good friend the Violet Wand …" Walking backwards toward the head of the bed, Kurt picks the wand up from a nearby table and switches it on. He holds his finger to the tip, pulling from the glass electrode a purple arc of electricity. Blaine doesn't flinch when Kurt turns it on because he can't hear it crackle, but his cock bobs in its corset anyway in anticipation of his Dom switching on the electricity. The longer Kurt takes to begin, the more Blaine starts to squirm, and for Kurt, Blaine's squirming makes this all the more delicious. "And to go with our wand, we have this little attachment …" From the table again, Kurt picks up a metal apparatus "… called a Rolling Drum." He runs the four inch drum, covered in rows of metal spikes, down Blaine's chest. Blaine bucks at the sensation that tickles more than it hurts. Kurt can't wait to do that again, next time with a few volts coursing through it. "So sit back and relax while we get this show started." Kurt turns to Blaine, slapping his cheek through the leather bag. "Smile pretty, pet," Kurt teases even though he knows that Blaine can't hear. He switches on the Violet Wand and runs it down Blaine's arm so he can feel the jolt, make his hair stand on end. "Your audience awaits."


	15. The Perks of Being a Key Holder

**At a Vogue event, Kurt happily shows off his brand new charm that his submissive Blaine has "given" to him.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'charm'. Warning for humiliation and mention of cock cages. Please see notes at the end.**

"What an absolutely exquisite charm!"

Kurt smiles graciously, patting down the ornament dangling from the silver Figaro chain peeking out from behind his bowtie.

"Isn't it though?" he gushes. "I just can't get enough of it! My wonderful boyfriend gave it to me."

This older woman, who had stopped Kurt and Blaine on their way to finding Isabelle, is the freelance editor of a trendy new fashion blog that _Vogue_ is wooing towards the dark side. She was making the rounds, shaking the requisite hands, when she spotted Kurt's newest bauble and moved in for a closer look. The charm is simple in its spectacle - a thin, plain, silver key, adorned with a delicate, faux porcelain topper, painted in a white and blue English teacup motif.

As pretty as it is, it's more gorgeous in its symbolism than in its style.

"You're a very lucky young man," she remarks, glancing over at Blaine, standing silently beside Kurt, his lips pulled into a polite smile. "The key to his heart, I assume?"

Kurt laughs. Blaine does not. The woman laughs, too, but only because Kurt does. She has no idea what could be so funny.

"No, no, no," Kurt says, shaking his head. "His _dick_."

The woman falls silent, her smile dropping so that her eyes go wide and her jaw slack. But a second later, she laughs again, and Kurt joins in, his put on laugh becoming more genuine when he looks at Blaine and sees the tips of his ears flushing bright red. Of course, they've been red for the past hour, but at this point, they've become conflagratory.

"You're pulling my leg!" she says, giving Kurt's hand a playful slap.

"Absolutely not! I can show you if you'd like." Kurt reaches for Blaine's crotch, but the woman grabs Kurt's arm and tugs him away, only halfheartedly concerned for the dapper young man who has remained unusually quiet throughout this whole exchange. _This is how the world of high fashion is_ , she reminds herself. _Full of excess and debauchery._ She's not offended in the slightest. On the contrary. She'd _kill_ to be a younger version of herself celebrating her current success in life with a sexy young thing at her beck and call like Kurt Hummel has.

"No, no, no, you cheeky boy. Making fun of an old woman like that! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Well, the offers still stands," Kurt says, palming Blaine's cock before he pulls his hand away. "Whenever you want to see it. _Especially_ if it'll win you over to our side."

"I may just take you up on that, Mr. Hummel." The old woman chuckles lightly and shakes her head, walking away towards the buffet and leaving Kurt to return to his sub. Blaine's ears are not only glowing red now, but he's bent slightly at the waist, the attention from Kurt's hand having caused Blaine's cock to swell in its smaller than normal cage.

Kurt frowns. "Posture, pet," he snaps. With the slimmest of grimaces, Blaine pops back upright. Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders, turns him around, and leads him into the throng. "Well, pet," he says, pushing his silent submissive through the crowd – silent as punishment for touching his Master's cock without permission, "she makes number forty-two out of three hundred and fourteen people who R.S.V.P.'d to this event. And we're not leaving until every last person knows what this key is for … whether they believe me or not."

* * *

 _***Notes: Okay, so, I wrote this, but to be honest, it's a little out of character for me. This is a form of humiliation that's very popular right now on chastity sites and whatnot, but it's never been something that I personally subscribed to because, for me, it straddles a few grey areas. Inviting non-consenting people into a scene, for one. Also, as a key holder, I always felt that it was my responsibility to keep that key safe. Flaunt it, yes, but not explicitly tell anyone what it was for. The humiliation came in having it, wearing it, keeping it away from a caged submissive, not in the outright telling others what it was for. People in the know would know, of course, but no reason to bring, say, the woman bagging my groceries into it. But some people crave this kind of humiliation, so I catered to it, but it's probably not something I would do in real life. And again, that's just me._


	16. Punishment - Cold

**After Kurt catches his pet breaking an important rule, one that they have recently discussed, Kurt decides to start down a newly agreed upon road of corrective action. (865 words)**

 **Warning for anxiety, mention of masturbation, D/s themes, punishment, and cock cages.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'dare', and inspired by lilinas's (on Tumblr) Bitchmas prompts icicle and bough, though I'm not sure it qualifies since, in the end, even though masturbation is mentioned, no one has sex here. The focus is on Blaine's mindset and the corrective action that Kurt takes. (See end for more notes)**

Blaine doesn't know why he did it. This isn't the first time either. It's been a compulsion for the past few weeks. He knows he'll get punished for doing it, but once it pops into his head, it's almost more painful not to - not for the sake of his body, but for the sake of his head. Something must be triggering it, but he doesn't know exactly what. Nothing much has changed in his life. Yes, he's performing in _Hedwig_ now instead of in _Kinky Boots_ , but that shouldn't make this an issue. He's not stressed out over the change. Is he looking for attention? Blaine can be a brat from time to time. As devoted as he is, as obedient, he sometimes craves punishment. He feels guilty about that, about wanting something that doesn't come from simply being open about his needs to his Dom. Kurt isn't an unreasonable man. If Blaine needs a spanking, Kurt would give it. Acting the brat is a conscious decision for Blaine. This isn't conscious. It's spontaneous, and unquellable.

Kurt looks at Blaine, standing in the living room with his pants and underwear around his knees. He tsks his pet, Blaine's unspent erection bobbing, attempting to cum, even when faced with defeat. Kurt had caught him in here, on the sofa, jerking off – eyes shut, legs spread, bucking his hips, fiercely fucking the fingers wrapped around his cock as if he were fucking Kurt. Why he hadn't thought to do it in the shower is beyond Blaine, but the urge to masturbate became so strong when he entered the loft, surrounded by the warmth and smell and aesthetic of Kurt, everything he put into making this cramped space a home, it was almost as if Blaine _couldn't_ wait.

Or that his subconscious _wants_ him to get caught. He'd done that before, when he needed to talk to Kurt about his feelings but he didn't know how. He'd broken a rule specifically so Kurt would have to deal with him.

But Blaine had understood it then. This confuses him.

"We talked about this, didn't we, pet?" Kurt says. He grabs Blaine by the O-ring on his collar, and leads him shuffling to the kitchen.

"Yes, Sir, we did."

"And didn't we agree to a new set of rewards for good behavior, and punishments if I caught you touching my property without permission again?"

Blaine swallows. He remembers them making up both lists. The new set of rewards should have been incentive enough to never touch his Master's cock again. And, if not, then the punishments definitely should have done the trick.

So, why didn't they?

"We did, Sir."

Kurt positions Blaine beside the refrigerator and sighs. "You know, you're a wonderful pet, the best I've ever had, but I don't understand you sometimes." Kurt admits it. It's not a condescending admission; it's an honest one. They've been together for over a year, but Kurt still feels like he's learning Blaine day by day. They have yet to settle into a groove because once they do, something new arises. But Kurt promised Blaine, and he promised himself, that this relationship was one worth working on, worth fighting for. So Kurt takes the sour with sweet.

In this case, the disobedience with the obedience.

"Okay, so now we try new punishment number one." Kurt opens the freezer and pulls out a Ziploc bag with one of Blaine's smallest cock cages inside – one that Kurt had special made in steel with a screw lock. Kurt pulls it out of the bag. A layer of frost has formed on the underside. The heat from Kurt's hand fogs the surface.

"We're going to put this on," Kurt says, juggling the frigid thing between both hands. "Then you're going to stand right here and wait while I got outside and find a switch to discipline you with. I saw a nice sapling willow in the playground on 9th the other day. I think a branch off that guy will do nicely." Kurt affixes the cage to Blaine's cock, quickly before his fingers go numb. Blaine shudders, repressing the urge to jump away with his front teeth sinking into his tongue.

The frozen metal cage feels like an icicle glued to his flesh, except that in all of his years suffering Ohio, and now New York, winters, he'd never felt an icicle _this_ cold. Of course, he'd never shoved one down his pants before, either, so he has no real frame of reference. The metal insides stick to his skin, but that isn't the whole of it. Before Kurt had put the cage into the freezer, he'd lined the inside with Icy/Hot.

As soon as the temperature within the cage starts to shift and the residue thaws, it'll heat up.

Along with the overall, overwhelming sensation of cold, solid as a brick pressing into the most sensitive flesh on his body, is what that cold does. It triggers release.

One of the many releases that Blaine is not allowed at this moment.

"And if you dare piss on my floor, pet, you're going to lick it up," Kurt reminds him, and walks out the door.

* * *

 _Notes - So, I had this idea after I wrote the one-shot "The Perks of Being a Key Holder". The focus on that one-shot became the way Kurt behaved in that situation. I focused on it, too, and from the get-go. But, after mulling over it for a day or two, I began to ask myself - Why would Blaine break a rule as big as the one he broke by masturbating? What was going on in his mind that would make him do that? I have presented Blaine in this series as a man with several different forms of anxiety, who finds peace in submissission, and Kurt as a man willing to do everything he can to help him. So if Blaine suddenly starts breaking the rules, there has to be a reason, since breaking a rule is something he doesn't do lightly. So this is actually the beginning of a study into the mind of Blaine, a sub with anxiety._


	17. Endurance - Part 1

**Kurt runs into an old friend while out to a private dinner with Blaine. Little does she know that she's walked into a scene ... and Blaine does an excellent job of keeping it that way.**

 **Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'green'.**

"Kurt? Kurt Hummel? Is that you?"

Kurt glances over his shoulder, searching for the voice calling his name. A waiter walks by, and a couple passes. Finally, the woman who owns it makes her way through the tables, approaching with arms open wide.

Kurt puts down his fork and rises from his seat. "Delilah Stevens!" he says, embracing her. "Oh my God! How long has it been?"

"Too long, darling. Too long," she replies, kissing Kurt on both cheeks.

"Are you back in the city?"

"Only for the week. Are you still working at _Vogue_?" She says the name with a hint of sour in her tone, as if whatever she does for a living, _Vogue_ is somehow beneath her.

"I am," Kurt admits sheepishly. "I've been there for a while now."

"Bah!" she exclaims, and mock spits on the floor. "Your talent is wasted at that rag sheet that passes itself off as a magazine! You should be working for me, mon cher! At my New York office. Or better yet! At my Paris office! You would _love_ it out there – the culture, the glamour, the _food_ …" She gestures around them at the dining room of Le Bernadin which, judging by the twist of her mouth, she also sees as beneath her "… the _men_. Eh?" She elbows him lightly in the ribs, and Kurt laughs.

"I have to admit, that _is_ tempting, but I'm still chasing that dream of performing on Broadway someday. And as for men …" Kurt leans back, moving out of Delilah's field of vision, to reveal Blaine, sitting politely at the table, hands folded in his lap, eyes focused on his half-eaten plate of Caesar salad.

Delilah looks at the dapper young man sitting quietly out of the way, and whistles appreciatively.

"Now, now, now, Kurt. You've been holding out on me, _as usual_."

"You might be more in the know if you visited more often," Kurt teases.

"Oh, hush, you, and introduce me to your man."

"Of course." Kurt takes a step back so Delilah can get closer. "Blaine Anderson, this is Delilah Stevens, one of the biggest names in haute couture in all of Europe. Delilah Stevens, this is Blaine Anderson, rising Broadway star."

"Broadway?" she says, impressed.

"Yup. He just finished a run in the musical _Kinky Boots_ , and now he's starring in _Hedwig_."

"Well well, then" - Delilah reaches out a hand to Blaine, a new appreciation lighting her eyes - "it's nice to meet you, Blaine Anderson. Always a thrill to meet a star on the rise."

Blaine's eyes dart to Kurt's face and Kurt nods. He rises from his chair. His facial features shift - jaw moves, smile widens, eyes shimmer. He extends his hand to the woman across the table and says, "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Stevens."

Blaine takes her hand and squeezes gently, and the woman purrs. "Ooo, the pleasure is _all_ mine," she says, slow to pull her hand away. "He has a nice, _firm_ handshake. You're a very lucky man, Kurt."

"Oh, stop it." Kurt chuckles. If Blaine didn't know better, he'd say his Dom is blushing. "You're still as dirty an old lady as you've ever been."

"Meh. I've never had a filter, and I'm far too old to start developing one now."

"Delilah!" A woman's voice calls from across the sea of tables. "Delilah! We're over here."

"Op," Delilah yelps. "They've caught me. I've got to go. It was nice seeing you again, Kurt."

"It was nice seeing you," Kurt says, giving the woman one last hug.

"And it was nice meeting you, Blaine." She gives him a quick once over, unconcerned with whether or not Kurt sees … which Kurt does. He responds by fondly roll his eyes. "We should all three of us get together for lunch while I'm here."

"I'd like that," Kurt answers for them. "I'll have my secretary call your New York office tomorrow."

"See that you do," she says, jabbing him in the shoulder with her finger, "or I'll send my assistant down to _Vogue_ …" (spoken with a curled lip sneer) "… to fetch you."

She walks off with a wave as she makes her way through the diners toward the other side of the room, where a table full of people, who have been watching their exchange with interest (and envy), stand waiting to receive their guest of honor.

"Oh!" Kurt sighs, retaking his seat. Only when he's sitting with his chair pulled in does Blaine follow suit. "We've been friends since the dawn of time. What can you do?"

Kurt waits until a few curious diners return to their meals before he turns to Blaine.

"You're a good boy," Kurt says. "You did incredibly well. I am _very_ proud of you. That interruption came out of nowhere, but you handled it beautifully."

Blaine, who had gone back to looking obediently at his plate, smiles. "Thank you, S-sir." He inhales in, and hiccups unexpectedly. Then he coughs, hacking into his closed fist.

"Ooo, careful now," Kurt says, handing Blaine a glass of ice water, which Blaine takes with a grimace. "No choking on me, pet."

Blaine takes a long sip, shuddering as he swallows. "I'm … sorry … Sir," he says, trying his best to sound calm between coughs.

Kurt puts a hand out in front of Blaine's mouth.

"Come on, pet. For being such a good boy, I won't make you swallow it." He makes a motion with his hand. "Give."

"Thank you, Sir." Blaine discreetly spits into his Master's hand a carefully skinned segment of jalapeno pepper, the second of two that he'd had sitting under his tongue through most of dinner. He'd had to relocate it between his teeth and cheek in order to speak clearly. The green pepper has been almost completely digested. What little is left of it is a testament to Blaine's obedience, and to his loyalty.

Kurt looks at it and grins. He wipes his hand with a napkin. Then he leans forward so only Blaine can hear. "I'll just have to find some other way to wreck your ass tonight."


	18. Training - Part 1

**Blaine starts anal training with a brand new and bigger glass plug, but the damn thing keeps slipping out. (1909 words)**

 **Okay, a few notes, since there's a lot going on here. We see Blaine and Kurt struggle with a scene, but it's a unique scene since it comes about because of a request that Blaine makes of his Dom, something that he worked to earn through tasks. We see Kurt get frustrated when things go wrong, and Blaine's resulting anxiety when he can't separate frustration at the situation from frustration with him. They work through it, with Blaine deciding to see this through and Kurt giving him lots of encouragement. I think it's a really sweet testament to their relationship overall.**

 **Warning for Dom/sub, anal plugs, spanking, and angst.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'impact', and lilinas Bitchmas prompt 'slip'.**

 **Part 40 of the Taking a Journey Together series.**

"22 … SMACK! … 23 … _mmph_! SMACK … 24 … _urgh_! SMACK! … 25 … _Grr_! Stay in, stay in, stay in! God dammit! Blaine!"

"I'm … I'm sorry, Sir," Blaine says, panting from exertion. His hands are balled into the blanket so hard, he has imprints of the wrinkles in the fabric embedded in his skin. His back, steeply sloped like a mountain road, is cramping above his hips, and his legs shake like crazy. Yet, he bows lower on the bed, sticking his ass in the air in search of the next hit. But it doesn't come. Instead, Kurt folds his thick leather belt in half, laying it over Blaine's ass for traction as he tries to push Blaine's new plug back into place. He manages, but almost a second later, the plug bids a hasty retreat out of Blaine's hole, and Kurt growls in frustration.

"If it slips out again, pet, we're going to have to start over from the beginning."

"I know, Sir."

"You'll have to lick the thing clean, we'll have to put more lube on it, and we're going to have to shove it back in there," he reminds his sub, giving the base of the glass plug a twist, screwing it back into Blaine's hole.

"I know, Sir," Blaine hisses as his raw, sensitive rim catches on a single unlubricated patch of glass and pulls. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's just …"

"Don't say it," Kurt warns, cutting Blaine's explanation short. " _You_ were the one who wanted to go up to this size, remember? I recommended going up just one size. You wanted more. You did your tasks and you earned it. Now we're going to use it, and this is how you get you used to it." Kurt raises the belt, preparing to swing. "Just … clench harder."

"Yes, Sir, _mmph_." The belt comes down on Blaine's ass, and the plug almost immediately shoots out again. Kurt pulls Blaine's legs out and down, trying to help with the clench, but it's counterproductive. Blaine can't use that as a crutch. Blaine has to do the work. This is what ass training is – learning to work around whatever his Dom decides to plug him with. Blaine tries. He really does try. But it's no use. No matter how tight Blaine clenches, he can't keep this new plug in. It's just a bit too big. Not to mention that, in order to get it seated, Kurt had to be generous with the lube.

Blaine came home that evening sore from practice. He'd slipped and fallen on his rear about a dozen times practicing _one_ dance, and from the hood of a car, too. That alone was enough to safeword out of this session today before they even started. Kurt would have understood. Blaine's health comes first; Kurt is always telling Blaine that. But Blaine was looking forward to this. Since the second that plug arrived in the mail and Kurt pulled it from the box, Blaine wanted it inside him. He needed to know what that felt like. So Blaine has no one to blame but himself.

Besides, Kurt scheduled this session days ago. Blaine knew about it ahead of time. Sore ass or no, Blaine can't say that Kurt isn't being fair.

"SMACK! 26 … SMACK! 27 … Jesus Christ! … SMACK 28! Oh, the hell with it! 29 30 31 SMACK SMACK SMACK!"

Kurt puts out his hand and catches the plug before it can drop to the floor. "Urgh! Well, this may have been a waste of $20, pet."

"Please," Blaine sniffles, bowing lower, sinking into the mattress a far as the pillow top will let him. "D-don't say that, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir, I …"

"Pet?" Kurt puts the plug and the belt down, and walks up beside him, a hand caressing Blaine's shuddering back. "Blaine? Honey? What's wrong?"

"I d-don't …" Blaine shakes his head, his forehead pressed to the comforter beneath him "… don't want … you to be disappointed, Sir."

Kurt sighs. He thought this might happen. He should have been better at circumventing it. "Baby, I'm not disappointed. Frustrated, maybe, but not disappointed." This isn't about just the plug for Blaine. It's about _Blaine_. It's so hard for Blaine sometimes to understand that frustration at a situation that he happens to be involved in doesn't necessarily equate to frustration with _him_. "This is for you, pet. We're doing this for _you_. You wanted this, and I want to make this work for you. But sometimes I have to accept the fact that there are things outside of my control, and that's not the easiest thing in the world for me. You trust me with your body, but I can only bend it to the best of _your_ abilities. You're not failing," Kurt adds when he hears Blaine sob. " _I'm_ the one who needs to back up a bit. Maybe it's time for a break. Give you some time to …"

"No, Sir!" Blaine jerks up so suddenly he almost clocks Kurt on the chin. "No! Please! Let me try again?"

Kurt pets down Blaine's damp hair, overlooking the interruption (which is normally punishable by an immediate spanking, but that seems redundant at the moment) and examining his face, the determination set in his eyes underneath a brow wrinkled with exhaustion. He's on the fence. Kurt knows that rehearsals for this new musical are pushing Blaine's boundaries. But Blaine thrives under that sort of pressure, _healthy_ pressure, the kind that breaks you down just to build you back stronger. That's Kurt's job, too. To push Blaine's boundaries. Blaine had taken the initiative by asking for the plug in the first place, and Kurt wants to see him succeed. Kurt has to take his cues from Blaine; he has to continue on as long as it's safe.

As long as Blaine can stand it.

"Is that what you want, pet? To keep going?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine replies with an enthusiastic nod that requires more energy than he has to spare. "Please, Sir. That's what I want."

"Good boy." Kurt kisses his sub, smiling in approval against Blaine's mouth. "You're such a good boy. That's what I like to hear." Kurt pushes down on Blaine's shoulders to put him back in a bow. Stroking along Blaine's spine, Kurt returns to his spot behind his pet. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to put you into position, put that plug back in, and you're going to hold for a sixty second count. If you can keep that position with the plug in for the whole sixty seconds, you'll get thirty swipes with the belt. Agreed?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine responds, relieved. "Thank you, Sir."

"Happy to oblige, pet. Now, relax. Breathe in deep, and then breathe out. Concentrate on opening yourself up for me." With another healthy dollop of lube on that Godforsaken plug, Kurt starts working Blaine open. Kurt hears him hum, an occasional hitch, but with less effort than before, the plug slips in. "If you need to safeword, you go ahead," Kurt reminds him. "But I want you to know that you've got this, pet. You can do this."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Are you green, pet?"

"I'm green, Sir."

"Are you sure you're not yellow? It's okay if you are."

"I know, Sir. Thank you for reminding me, Sir. I'm green."

"Then let's begin." Kurt sets a timer on his phone for sixty seconds. He gives the plug an extra shove so that Blaine's muscles lock down over the curved neck before the base. Then he starts the timer.

"There you go, pet," Kurt murmurs as he watches Blaine tense, his legs shaking less but his stomach muscles quivering more. Blaine has found a new technique, located different muscle groups that can help him with his task, and as admirable as that is, he still looks like he's about to vibrate to pieces. "You've got this, you've got this," Kurt repeats, then counts down – "5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … time! You did it, pet!" Kurt cheers with a playful swat to Blaine's right cheek.

Kurt hears Blaine release a breath, but his body doesn't relax. He's still tense, thighs and ass twitching to keep the plug from escaping.

"I'm going to start off with easy swats," Kurt says, "and then we'll go progressively harder. Are you still green?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine says, his voice strained. "Still green."

"Good. Here we go." Kurt pulls his arm back and lets the belt fly. The first impact makes Blaine jump. His ass, mostly muscle, barely jiggles, and for Kurt, that's where the disappointment lies. He loves to see Blaine's ass jiggle. But he would never tell Blaine that. Not in a million years. Blaine has been working so hard as a performer. His tighter ass is a consequence of that. No reason to make him self-conscious about it.

Besides, a tight ass has never been a deficit. Not in Kurt's book.

The plug unseats temporarily with the second swat, but only by a hair. With the third swat, it pops back into place.

Harder and harder Kurt goes with every swat. Marks that started out as pink stripes become red brick welts, but Blaine holds on. Kurt alternates one cheek, then the other, then both, and then the backs of Blaine's thighs. Blaine begins to groan, but he holds tighter. With the final swat, as Kurt announces _30_ with pride, Blaine lets go, every one of his muscles relaxing at once. The plug comes loose, tumbling to the mattress. It bounces off, drops to the hardwood floor, and rolls away.

Kurt is glad that he took the extra step to have Blaine douche beforehand or they could have had a real mess on their hands.

"Welp," Kurt says as Blaine collapses to the mattress, the glass plug spinning in a lazy, incomplete circle, both pet and toy done in for the night, "I guess that's our cue to end this for now." Kurt pats Blaine's swollen cheek. "Let me get you all taken care of." He puts away his belt, hanging it on the door of the closet, and returns to the bed with a tube of ointment.

"Please," Blaine moans, swallowing breaths by the dozens as they start to slow down.

"What do you need, pet?" Kurt asks, carefully applying a lay of Preparation H to the rim of Blaine's hole.

"Please … can we … keep the plug … Sir?"

"You can keep the plug, pet," Kurt says, shaking his head that that's the first thing on Blaine's mind. God, he must have really enjoyed it. The possibilities with a plug that big are many, varied, and exciting, and Kurt gets hard thinking about them. "But I'm going to get you another one, for now, in the same size, made out of silicone, with a harness to keep it locked into your hole until you get used to it. Something you can even dance in. What do you think of that, pet?"

"Thank you, Sir," Blaine says, giddy beneath an onslaught of yawns. "And thank you for taking care of me."

"Not a problem, pet," Kurt says, applying a second layer of ointment. "I have a lot riding on your ass, no pun intended. It's one of my favorite things in this world, and therefore, must be protected."


	19. Tied Up In Knots

**Kurt and Blaine finally make it to the Shibari retreat that Kurt's been dying to go to. They start off having a great time until one rude Dom makes Blaine self-conscious, and latent body issues crop up.**

 **Warning for Dom/sub, bondage (Shibari), and angst surrounding body image issues. Dom!Kurt, sub!Blaine**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts impact, journey, and kiss, but I managed to squeeze in audience, bed, dare, and fair, too. Also inspired by lilinas Bitchmas prompt 'wrap' though I'm not sure it applies since no one actually has sex in this one xD**

"Are you nervous, pet?" Kurt asks, head perched on Blaine's shoulder while they wait for their instructors to appear. "Because you seem nervous to me."

"Maybe a little, Sir." Blaine crosses his arms over his waist and grabs Kurt's hands where they rest on his hips. He tugs gently and Kurt obliges, wrapping his arms around Blaine's torso from behind, hugging him to help him feel more secure. "There's more people here than I thought there would be." Blaine sweeps his eyes around at the twenty or so couples gathered - talking, laughing, holding one another the way Kurt and Blaine are. Some seem to prefer a more formal stance, the Dominant party standing or sitting with their submissive kneeling or bowed low beside them. One of those couples repeatedly draws Blaine's focus - Dom standing, legs apart, arms folded over his chest, while his male submissive bows on the floor, shirtless to display the black shoulder straps of the cock lock harness he's wearing. The Dom keeps glancing over at them, and not in a casual way. He's making deliberate eye contact, looking Blaine over from head to toe, and then at Kurt in a challenging way.

Kurt doesn't seem to notice. Blaine doesn't acknowledge the man's inappropriate staring, keeping his own eyes on the floor, but they occasionally shift to the man's submissive. Blaine knows what sort of harness he's wearing because Blaine has worn one himself. Personally, Blaine thinks that displaying it that way is tacky. It would be like Kurt making Blaine keep his fly undone to show off his cage.

"This happens to be one of the most popular Shibari workshops in the country, pet," Kurt explains with unmistakable excitement. "I've wanted to go to one forever. And now I'm here, all thanks to you."

"To me, Sir?" Blaine peeks over his shoulder, his cheek rubbing Kurt's. "Why thanks to me?"

"Because I only wanted to come here with a true partner, pet. Someone that I not only respected as a submissive, but that I loved. And here you are. So thank you, pet. Thank you for making this possible."

Kurt turns Blaine into his embrace and kisses him. And as much as Blaine wants to melt into his Dom's arms and enjoy that kiss, he feels the other Dom's eyes burning into his back.

It's off-putting.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!"

A man's voice rises above the murmuring of the crowd. Kurt turns Blaine back around as their instructors arrive. Blaine is amused by the difference between the two people entering the room. The male half of the pair looks like he could be in his early sixties, but only judging by his face. He stands roughly an inch or two over six feet. He's muscular, but in that sense that he must have spent his entire life working with his body, and not in a gym either. His tan, slightly leathery skin, seems to attest to that fact. His white teeth shine like a beacon when he opens his mouth, and his blue eyes smile when he smiles.

His assistant - an elegantly beautiful and petite woman who Blaine wouldn't dare try to pin an age to - is barely five foot if she's an inch, wearing a red one-piece leotard that glows against her bronze skin. She has dark hair braided down her back with a red cord woven in. She doesn't smile as wide as her counterpart, but she has a very kind and comforting face.

Upon seeing them from afar for a grand total of one minute, Blaine decides that he likes the two of them immediately. By their presence alone, Blaine feels more relaxed.

They stop front and center of the room to address their audience. The man motions with his hands to settle a rising tide of light applause.

"Thank you all so much, Doms, subs, husbands, wives, and friends, for joining us for our Fourteenth Annual Shibari Retreat. My name is Kevin, and my assistant today will be Nonni. For members of our D/s community, Nonni is neither a Dominant nor a submissive. She's just a very flexible friend who has offered to be my helper, so let's show her some love before we begin."

The room erupts again with a round of polite but enthusiastic applause, and Nonni bows.

"Also," Kevin continues, "as was stated on our website, we want our participants to be as comfortable as possible, so feel free to remove clothing as you see fit, as long as you do not invade anyone else's personal space. Respect is paramount here. Anyone showing disrespect to another participant will be asked to leave."

Murmurs of agreement travel through the room. The Dom who's been staring Blaine and Kurt down wastes no time stripping off his shirt, and then removes his sub's pants, for pretty much no reason whatsoever.

That blatantly aggressive a display turns Blaine's stomach, but it also makes him thankful that he found such a caring and wonderful man like Kurt to be his Dominant. Of course, Blaine doesn't know what kind of arrangement those men have. He doesn't want to assume that that Dom would do anything his submissive hadn't agreed to beforehand. To each his own, Kurt always says. How you live your life and what you bring to bed is your own business, as long as you're not hurting someone else or infringing on their rights. Blaine tries to incorporate that into his thinking as much as he can. It has required him to work through some deeply entrenched prejudices, ones that he never realized he had.

Blaine tries not to be too hard on himself when he fails. Kurt says he should consider himself a work in progress. If he slips up, just move forward, and try harder next time. Ignoring this man and his treatment of his sub is good practice for that.

But it would be easier if the man would keep his eyes to himself.

"Come on, pet," Kurt says, feeling Blaine's shoulders tense. "Try to relax. We're having fun, remember?"

"Here you guys go," Nonni says, handing Kurt a skein of green rope.

"Thank you." Kurt takes it, eyes lighting up like he's just opened the greatest Christmas present ever. He unwinds it, holds it in both hands and yanks on it to test its strength. "Wow, this is some nice rope."

Blaine chuckles softly at his Dom's behavior. He's not used to seeing Kurt so giddy, and regardless of a little discomfort, Blaine couldn't be happier that they're there together.

"Alright," Kevin says, "does everybody have their rope? Yes … yes … good! We're going to start off with some simple gauntlets so you can get a feel for how this rope works. Just pick your favorite body part, and let's have a go."

Blaine hears nervous giggling, anxious shuffling, and mutters of, "No, no, no, that's not right," as the beginner beginners attempt to manipulate the rope while simultaneously following along with Kevin as he ties Nonni's arms behind her back. A single rigger in the far corner already has her own legs tied together from ankles to knees. Blaine can't help being impressed.

"Let me know right away if something hurts or pinches," Kurt says, rounding behind Blaine to practice the same technique that Kevin is showing with Nonni.

"Yes, Sir."

As soon as Kurt gets the rope around Blaine's wrists, he focuses on trying to recreate the gauntlet the way Kevin demonstrates, regardless of the fact that he's tied a gauntlet countless times. But the rope he's using gets tangled in Blaine's loose shirt. After a third attempt that ends with Blaine's sleeves getting snagged, Kurt starts undressing Blaine, quickly, clinically, needing the lack of bunching fabric in order to make the gauntlet he's working on fit correctly.

Blaine notices that there's a great deal more skin on display overall in the room now, mostly from submissives whose Dominants are having the same issues as Kurt. Many of the female participants being tied are wearing leotards like Nonni's. One or two are in their underwear. A brave female couple in the back row has gone topless, both rigger and bottom.

Blaine doesn't look long. He's not allowed, and it's disrespectful. But even a cursory glance tells him that there are no shortage of striking bodies present.

A few eyes look their way as Kurt strips his sub down to his underwear, but most of those people are simply attracted to the new movement. One pair of eyes, however, lock on to Blaine's and hold. Blaine flushes up his chest and neck, and looks away.

Kurt's head snaps up as Blaine's eyes snap down.

"What's wrong, pet?" Kurt asks, giving Blaine his full attention. "Tell me."

Blaine doesn't launch right into it. He doesn't want to admit that the other Dom's staring makes him self-conscious. At the club, Dominants stare all the time, but that's a different atmosphere. The rules are clearly defined. Blaine knows to expect it there. This studio, with its intermingle of D/s and vanilla people, here for a purpose that is both D/s and not, seems equally more PG-13 and more intimate than the club. Blaine skirts the issue, coming at it from an alternate angle.

"Nothing really, Sir. It's just that the people here … they're so … _attractive_."

"So you've noticed," Kurt says, giving his bashful submissive a wink.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Blaine's head drops, chin to his chest, his eyes on his feet, as if he's trying to limit his world to just himself and his Dom. Blaine does this sometimes as a coping mechanism to head off a panic attack, and it has Kurt confused. He doesn't understand what could bring on this reaction. This studio, these people, these instructors, they combine to create about as low key an environment as one can get. There's no reason that Kurt can see as to why Blaine should feel uncomfortable here. But that's not being fair to Blaine, Kurt knows. Kurt has to try and see things from his sub's point of view. "It's not a competition, pet," he tries when he thinks he might see the trouble. Blaine has body issues. It's been a constant in their relationship. It's a logical assumption that that could be the thing that's bothering him. "You, by far, are much more appealing than anyone in here. They're just bodies, pet. But your body belongs to me, and I have to say, even if I weren't completely biased, you definitely have the most enviable body in the room."

"Thank you, Sir."

"But …" Kurt prompts, knowing that there's a _but_ in there somewhere.

"I … I don't like them staring, or judging."

"They shouldn't be staring at you at all," Kurt growls. He looks up, turns his head. He finds the other Dom, gaze aimed shamelessly at Blaine while he ignores his own submissive untied on the floor.

Kurt's lip curls. "Don't you have some knots to tie?"

"Don't _you_?" the other Dom fires back, obnoxious grin taking up ¾'s of his face.

Kurt rolls his eyes, moving a foot to the right to block the man's view.

"Don't worry about them judging you," Kurt says, catching Blaine's gaze so his eyes won't wander. "Honestly, should their opinion matter to you?"

"No, Sir," Blaine answers guiltily, because whether or not it should, the answer is it does. Being judged has been a huge part of Blaine's life. Everything he's done from kindergarten till now has been based on other people's opinions of him – as a protégé, as an athlete, as valedictorian, as a teacher, and as a performer. Succeeding in life has stemmed on being able to make people like him, and his looks have been instrumental in that.

Kurt takes a step towards Blaine, walking as far into his personal space as he can, blocking out everyone – the man behind them, the other participants, the instructors at the front of the room.

"Don't let unimportant people have an impact on how you feel, pet. Don't let them ruin your fun. Don't give them that power. This is _your_ journey. Yours and mine. We're taking it together. Those people? They don't even exist in our world. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Sir," Blaine nods, obediently but sadly. "I do."

"Good. You're a good boy, Blaine," Kurt says, knowing that Blaine's not there yet, not completely reassured, but he needs the praise if he's going to get there eventually. "Now, let's get you tied up, and after I'm done, do you know what I intend on doing?"

"What, Sir?"

Kurt peeks over his shoulder to find that same Dom still staring, as if watching Kurt and Blaine is exactly what he spent his $1200 for. Kurt leans his forehead against Blaine's so he can talk in a whisper.

"I'm going to hogtie asshat over there."


	20. Doll Maker

**Sub Blaine asks his Dom to turn him into a doll.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts impact, journey, kiss, music, and new, and lilinas's Bitchmas prompt wrap. A few things to say about this one-shot - I wrote this from my own personal experience being a Doll Maker. As with everything in D/s, there is more than one way to be a doll or a Doll Maker. Everyone's experience is different. Everyone's school of thought is different. Everyone's definition of 'doll space' is different. Also, I kind of simplified everything here, so if it seems inaccurate by omission, it's simply because there's a flow to this story that I didn't want to make choppy by being overly clinical. If you want to know more, it can be Googled. Research is your friend. :) The thoughts and experiences I'm writing about are just mine. That doesn't make them more valid than anyone else's, and it doesn't make them the only ones. This is simply a taste of one person's perspective. That said, this will become its own series of one-shots, exploring different aspects of being both a Doll Maker and a doll.**

 **Warning for Dom/sub, objectification, talk of hyper-stimulation, and sensory deprivation. Dom!Kurt, sub!Blaine**

 **Part 42 of the Taking a Journey Together Series.**

Kurt runs his hands over the rubber suit Blaine's encased in, his submissive wrapped in head to toe black latex, complete coverage, everything concealed except for his cock, left exposed solely for his Master's use. Since the suit deprives Kurt of the glorious music that is Blaine's whimpers and cries, Kurt smacks Blaine's thigh to hear the satisfying sound of skin against rubber, that sharp _thwack_ that sends a chill down his spine. It's industrial, fake, and impersonal, and knowing that his hot-blooded Filipino boy is trapped inside makes Kurt hotter than hell.

The material of the suit dulls the impact for Blaine, but it makes a fantastic noise when Kurt slaps it, leaves a resounding sting in Kurt's palm that adds an edge to the tingling sensation of Blaine's cock rubbing against his prostate.

As Kurt fucks his sub, bouncing rhythmically in a way suited solely for his own pleasure, he thinks back on the message Blaine sent him. It's not every day that Kurt gets a request like this from his sub. Kurt had no idea that Blaine was even thinking of this.

Kurt was too intrigued to pass it up.

The message itself was beautiful. Kurt appreciated the poetry of it. He saved it in a box full of notes that Blaine has written him, and that Kurt reads over and over.

 _Make me your doll_. _Turn me into a plaything and use me the way you'd like. Train away my thoughts. Take away my sight, my hearing, my response to touch. Objectify me. Mold me. Make me more yours than I have ever been._

Kurt doesn't simply grant Blaine his every wish just because he asks nicely, but after a message like that, how in the world could Kurt say no?

As with everything they introduce into their dynamic, they talked about it first, drawing up an addendum to their contract that included Kurt's new role as Doll Maker, and Blaine's new role as doll, how they would include these sessions in their play, how often, and what exactly those sessions would contain.

They started by discussing Blaine's definitions of _doll_ and of _use_. Kurt told Blaine that, for many people, becoming a doll had little to do with sexual acts. They simply liked to be objectified in the manner of a doll – dressed up, played with, put on display. Blaine told Kurt that he knew, that he'd been studying dolls and Doll Makers when Kurt assigned him research to do. When Kurt assigns research as a task, Blaine gets two choices for presentation, the same as in school – he can write an essay, or do an oral report.

Blaine asked his Dom if he could put what he'd learned into practice instead, and Kurt agreed.

Training away Blaine's thoughts and his response to stimuli took the longest amount of time. Some Dominants do that with their dolls already in their 'play clothes', but Kurt felt that Blaine would be more successful as a doll if they took things one step at a time. Blaine dealt better when he had to work towards a goal or achieve a reward.

Through training, Blaine would earn his doll clothes.

In order for Blaine to be a doll, he had to find his 'doll space', which was similar to 'sub space', but also not. Sub space is a floaty feeling of detachment from the physical, a separation between mind and body that the brain uses to process an intense experience. In sessions, it's usually attained through extreme tasking of the body. Doll space is less floaty but just as detached, and it had to be achieved _before_ a scene. Sometimes, simply existing in doll space is the scene in its entirety.

The journey into Blaine's 'doll space' involved a lot of meditation and stimulation simultaneously. To be a doll, Blaine had to surrender to being inanimate, become static. He could only react to the stimuli that Kurt allowed him to react to. If Blaine chose to be a baby doll, then he would need to keep his eyes open when he sat upright or stood, and close them when he laid down, the same way a baby doll would. Kurt and Blaine spent a great deal of time practicing relaxed, quiet orgasms, and in this, Kurt was a ruthless trainer. He started with only his hand, fingering Blaine or stroking him, going straight for the techniques he knew would cause a near instant orgasm. When Blaine tensed up, anything from the flutter of his eyelids to the curling of his toes, Kurt would stop and correct. Stop and correct. They moved on to vibrators, prostate wands, and a Hitachi bound to Blaine's cock using bondage tape. There were days of very little stimulus – just one toy or Kurt's mouth, an electrified corset on Blaine's cock or a Violet Wand on his nipples and testicles. Sometimes, Blaine was hyper-stimulated, every hole filled, nipples clamped, earlobes and tongue clothes pinned, and Kurt riding him hard.

Kurt edged Blaine for days and ruined countless orgasms until Blaine could suffer through without a peep or a whine, a twitch of his face or a jerk of his fingers.

When Blaine earned his doll clothes, Kurt gave Blaine the option of dress up doll or sex doll. (Baby doll ended up squicking Kurt out too much, so it was taken off the table.) Blaine chose sex doll for his first time, with the option to be Kurt's dress up doll later on. (That was Kurt's addendum. He had secretly hoped Blaine would choose dress up doll. He longed to put Blaine in frilly dresses and aprons, wigs with thick sausage curls, and elaborate doll makeup – big, white circle eyes and lots of violet eyeshadow, ruby lips and red apple cheeks.)

Blaine knew Kurt would choose the outfit Blaine would wear. They had decided that, as Doll Maker, Kurt had that right. But Kurt opted for them to narrow it down to five choices together, with Kurt having the final say. Kurt watched Blaine carefully as they scrolled through websites, keeping an eye on the things that captured his attention, made him lick his lips, made his eyes go wide.

Out of four likely candidates (and one that Kurt threw in as a wild card to keep Blaine on his toes), Kurt chose the one that Blaine seemed the most interested in, the one that made him sit forward in his seat and sandwich his hands between his thighs - something Blaine did when he became excited about something.

Shiny black latex with zippers, gloves, booties, and a full hood.

Immobilizing.

Numbing.

Featureless.

Kurt's dapper boy, who, in his vanilla life, wore bow ties and cardigans, jeans and button downs, who had signature raven curls, honey-gold eyes, and the most plush, kissable lips that Kurt has ever seen, wanted all of that stripped away until he was simply a void with genitalia, and skin so shiny it basically reflected Kurt's image back at him.

When Blaine wears his black latex doll suit, he gives up his identity, his talent, his personality.

Aside from his singular purpose, he's essentially nothing.

Kurt's sex doll is an object – a toy for Kurt to get off on. It has no feelings of its own, no say in what happens to it. It can be fucked, whipped, electrified, left on the floor overnight, even pissed on.

And Kurt has no obligation to make sure it finishes.

So after Kurt climaxes, after he defiles the shiny black suit with his cum, leaves hand prints on the chest and rubs a palm of it down the unsettling blank face, he climbs off his doll and walks away.


	21. Cock Worship, Coffee, and the New York

**Cock Worship, Coffee, and the New York Times Crossword Puzzle**

 **Cock worship, coffee, and the New York Times crossword puzzle are Kurt's favorite ways to start off the morning, because with Blaine between his knees, helping him with the clues, it's that much more fun.**

 **Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'games', and the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'opportunity', and based off of something my husband and I used to do together (minus the cock worship xD TMI!)**

 **Note: We all know that Blaine suffers from anxiety, so the assumption will be that Kurt doing something that he knows will 'trigger' that anxiety is cruel. Except that there is a level of fear inherent in a D/s relationship. Not a bad kind of fear, but an agreed upon level of fear that borders more on anticipation than actual fear. Blaine trusts Kurt, and Kurt doesn't take that trust lightly. He has no intention of doing anything to scar Blaine.**

 **Part 43 in the Taking a Journey Together series.**

"O-kay …" Kurt hums, settling lower in his chair, legs spread and a pen in his hand as he considers the next clue, "48 across. Strut one's stuff. Six letters."

Kurt _does_ actually try to figure it out himself. Even distracted, he's pretty good at the crossword puzzle. But it takes literally only a second before his sub's fingertip against his thigh spells out the word - s … a … s … h … a … y.

"Hmm, _good_ _boy_ ," Kurt moans, sloppily writing the word with his right hand while the fingers of his left bury into Blaine's curls, urging him up and down over Kurt's cock. Kurt looks at his own crooked, wobbly handwriting, and smirks. If their roles were reversed and this was _Blaine's_ handwriting, he'd get a spanking.

Kurt raises an eyebrow. A spanking. That might be a nice addition to this morning ritual. Cock worship, coffee, and the New York Times crossword puzzle are Kurt's favorite way to start the day. But a spanking is a good idea any time. Blaine can spank Kurt first, and if he does it right, Kurt will return the favor.

"44 across. Another word … _mmm_ , God, pet! Slow down just a little … another word for relax. Six letters."

Again, Kurt only has to wait a moment before Blaine writes out on his thigh in clear block letters for his Dom to pick up without too much concentration – l … o … o … s … e … n. Blaine doesn't miss a beat while he writes, swiping his tongue along Kurt's slit and then continuing his way down with lapping strokes. Kurt doesn't know if it's the athlete in Blaine or the musician, but it's almost as if Kurt's sub is two separate people – one concentrating on blowing him, the other figuring out the answers. The fact that it is, in fact, one person, that it's _Blaine_ , fills Kurt with a never ending pride and an unquenchable desire for _this_ all of the time.

Kurt is pretty sure he could spend whole days like this, naked in this very chair with Blaine on his knees, sucking him off, while they burn through every crossword, word jumble, and Sudoku in the paper. Blaine is way too good at this. That mouth of his should come with some sort of warning. Kurt didn't have to train Blaine how to do this to his liking; he just _knew_.

"23 across," Kurt says with a shaky swallow. They're only about halfway done, but Kurt knows he's not going to last too much longer. Before they started doing the crossword together like this, Kurt could make it till the end, finish the crossword completely before he gave himself permission to cum. But combining doing the crossword with Blaine's help with this incredible blow has turned into an exercise in restraint … one that Kurt has discovered he isn't exactly good at. "Bireme or trireme tool. Three letters."

That one stumps Blaine, but he doesn't stop his worship. He doesn't let one thing slip for the other. The strength of Blaine's discipline, his integrity, makes Kurt weak.

This they stumbled on by accident. At the start of their relationship, Kurt's morning ritual consisted of cock worship, coffee, and doing the crossword puzzle alone. But while Blaine was sucking his Dom's balls into his mouth one by one in that relaxing way that Kurt enjoys, Kurt was muttering over a clue he just couldn't decipher. Blaine took a chance, and wrote the word on Kurt's thigh (the way he's doing now – o … a … r).

It wasn't Blaine being disobedient. Tapping on Kurt's thigh with his finger when he's in distress is Blaine's safe signal when he has his mouth filled with his Dom's cock. It's a way for them to communicate when Blaine can't speak. And from the slightly apprehensive way he scratched out that first word, Kurt knew Blaine wasn't trying to act superior. He wanted to help, the way Blaine always does.

It was Blaine being Blaine, and that's what made it so sexy.

"Bassoon part in t-two pieces," Kurt stammers, his control slipping as he slides further down in his chair. "Four letters."

He feels his sub chuckle deep in his chest so that it rings up to the back of his throat as he writes the word r … e … e … d, probably because that one is so easy for him, a giveaway considering he plays the oboe. Or it could be because he managed to make Kurt stutter. Kurt logs that away. He'll consider what he wants to do with that little sliver of misbehavior later.

"Alright …" Kurt scratches Blaine's scalp as Blaine takes Kurt completely down his throat. Kurt sits still when Blaine does this, careful not to ruin his boy's singing career with a stupidly impatient thrust or a wrongly timed buck. "This one's … _fuck!_ … this one's a thinker. 13 down. Take a chance. Eleven let-…"

Before Kurt can even finish, Blaine has the word written out on Kurt's thigh – o … p … p … o … r … t … u … n … i … t … y.

"Fuck!" Kurt groans, fingers winding in Blaine's hair as he cums. He curls in his chair when it hits him, muscles spasming so that he has to give over and ride the wave. "God!" Kurt pushes his sub off his sensitive cock when he hears Blaine choke. Blaine has rehearsals in a couple of hours. Kurt doesn't need Blaine coughing up cum in the middle of belting out _Midnight Radio_. He shoos Blaine back, silently commanding him to a spot a few feet away to kneel quietly while Kurt recovers. "Jesus," Kurt mutters, carefully tucking back into his pants, "that's just … your intelligence … it's just so fucking _hot_."

"Thank you, Sir," Blaine says, sitting back on his heels as he waits to be dismissed. "I'm glad to be of service, Sir," he adds so as not to sound too vain.

"However," Kurt adds, watching a slight twinge of fear on Blaine's lips since Kurt never follows up their morning sessions with anything but praise, "I'm beginning to think that the crossword puzzle might be getting a little too easy for you. Perhaps we should add a level of difficulty. A humbler, perhaps?"

That twitch on Blaine's lips can't seem to decide between becoming a smile or a frown as Blaine imagines himself forced to his knees with his balls in a vice clamped behind his thighs.

"Well, I'll have to give it some thought while you clean up," Kurt continues. "Go take your shower, pet. You have a big day ahead of you."

"Yes, Sir." Blaine rises to his feet. "Thank you, Sir." He heads slowly towards the bathroom, obviously thinking about the possibility of a humbler in his near future because he walks with his knees locked and ass clenched, taking stiffer steps than usual. Kurt chuckles to himself, privately enjoying this confliction in his submissive, which he'll let last for a few moments longer before he interrupts Blaine's shower to give him his final decision.

 _Take that, Blaine Devon Anderson. Ten points off for chuckling._


	22. Signs of Ownership

**When Blaine volunteers for a local kids' theater group, another volunteer has his eye on him. When Kurt catches wind of a few choices comments the man has made (one, in particular, about how Kurt doesn't own Blaine), Kurt puts a plan into action to prove just how wrong he is.**

 **Warning for mention of marks and bruises that Blaine already has, a cock cage and butt plug.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'sign', and inspired by lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'decorate'. This was just an opportunity to show some ways Kurt deals with the people who don't feel the need to respect his and Blaine's relationship, but in a true Dominant fashion (i.e. NOT beating the crap out of someone else, even though Kurt really really wants to xD). With power comes responsibility, and this is one of the ways Kurt uses his. We'll see more of how Kurt "asserts his Dominance over others" in later one-shots.**

When Kurt asked Blaine what he wanted for Christmas, Blaine asked his Dom for only one thing.

Permission.

Eager to be back around kids again, if only for Christmas break, Blaine asked Kurt if he could volunteer some of his time to a local, underfunded, afterschool theater group, helping them put together their production of _A Christmas Carol_. Blaine had learned about the group while he was teaching, and had always wanted to lend them a hand. From the high school students who volunteered, Blaine had heard that they had blessedly little in the way of supplies – few to no new costumes, barely any props, using recycled sets until they just about fell to pieces. With so many other theater programs for kids in the city, this one was consistently overlooked, leaving the kids who relied on it stuck between a rock and a hard place. Other free programs nearby had waiting lists a mile long, while others charged a tremendous fee. If this program disappeared, the community would be left with nothing. Blaine hoped that maybe a bit of his newfound (if minor) star power could do the trick in helping to arouse interest.

Kurt approved wholeheartedly of Blaine's request. He loves this side of Blaine – his selfless, compassionate side, especially where it pertains to children. It makes Kurt think of what an incredible father Blaine will be someday.

And if Kurt is lucky, he'll be able to witness it firsthand.

Kurt does not, however, approve of the company Blaine has to keep - one man in particular who volunteered to work behind the scenes.

Kurt wants to break his neck.

Kurt doesn't know who the man thinks he is. He claims to be involved in "professional theater", too, but Kurt's never heard of him. The man's got it into his head that Blaine is "on the market", when that obviously couldn't be further from the truth. It's not as if Kurt and Blaine are subtle about their relationship. Kurt rides with Blaine in the taxi to the school almost every day, he sticks around when he can, they eat dinner together constantly, and then Kurt picks him up after. They make-out on the street corner waiting for their cab, they hold hands everywhere they go…

But none of that seems to matter to this asshole. He actually went the step of telling Blaine (during downtime between scenes) that Kurt's "displays of affection" are insecurity manifest; that Kurt is staking his claim in public, and in a vulgar manner, too. He followed that up with the flippant remark that Kurt can "piss on Blaine all he wants", but that doesn't mean he _owns_ Blaine.

But this man, who means nothing, doesn't quite understand just how untrue that statement is.

Because if he had the chance to see Blaine beneath his clothes, which he'd only get over Kurt's dead and decaying body, he'd realize that Kurt's seals of ownership decorate every inch of Blaine's skin.

Kurt signs his name with cane marks under the curve of Blaine's ass.

He signs his name with his teeth embedded in the soft skin of Blaine's stomach.

He signs his name with the pointed ends of Blaine's favorite meat tenderizer pounding into his right ass cheek.

He signs his name with the monogrammed plug up Blaine's ass and the engraved cage locked over his cock.

But since none of that matters to a person who sees a year-plus-long commitment by two men in love _negotiable_ , most importantly of all, Kurt signs his name to a hefty sponsorship check, along with his own pledge to donate all of the baked goods the program will need to sell for the run of the show, that so swiftly gets the man assigned to administrative duties, which, for Blaine, is one of the best two-fold presents of them all.


	23. Jingle All the Way

**Kurt has devised a plan that combines predicament torture along with mild humiliation in order to help Blaine cope with the anxiety he feels about being vulnerable on stage while playing Hedwig.**

 **Warnings for mild anxiety, mild humiliation, public domination, vibrating butt plug, and a ball stretcher.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompts audience, early, fair, guess, hello, impact, journey, and kiss, and lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'jingle'. Just a note - this one-shot may also seem OOC for this series' Kurt, but it's really not. He has a reason for doing what he's doing. He's picked a familiar place - a Vogue event - which is likely to be somewhere that, even though it's public, Blaine has a connection with because he spends a lot of time with that crowd. I've always believed that the world of fashion, art, and culture is filled with sexual deviants (so to speak), so even if someone in Kurt's circle discovered what was going on between them, they probably wouldn't be all that shocked. Also, it's important to note that Blaine does mention everyone being nose deep in their champagne flutes, which means they're probably fairly tipsy by the time Kurt really tries anything. This is mostly supposed to be from Blaine's POV, which means we see a lot of his anxiety come through and we get a lot less structure in the session, where, if this was written from Kurt's POV, it would be much more linear and methodical.**

 **Part 45 of the Taking a Journey Together series.**

"Oh, Blai-ne! Can you come here, please? There's some people I'd like you to meet."

Blaine locks eyes with his Dom, beckoning him from across the room, and his stomach sinks – falls straight to the floor with no stops in between. Kurt's not too far away, probably the distance of about twenty feet or so, but Blaine isn't looking forward to making the journey.

The bell hanging from Blaine's balls makes him self-conscious as hell.

This is a test, an exercise in Blaine being more aware of his body – how it moves, how it responds, how it feels to be a creature in touch with his sexuality, to become more at ease with being vulnerable in public – in preparation for performing the role of _Hedwig_. As Hedwig, Blaine will have to interact with an audience while being exposed both emotionally and physically.

After his fifth rehearsal, Blaine confided to his Dom that he feels anxiety building when he thinks of all the costume changes, stripping down piece by piece until he's left in only a pair of tight black shorts.

But it's not the lack of clothing that really has him scared. It's _getting_ _to_ that point that terrifies him.

So Kurt devised this plan to help Blaine over the hurdle.

The bell makes Blaine aware of his body in a different way, more so than his cage does. He thought that the new vibrator - the Remote Buzz Bomb Climax 6.0, _Fort Troff's most intense vibrating plug ever, controllable from up to 30 feet with the wireless remote_ (according to their website) - which Kurt had inserted into his ass before they left would be the most difficult predicament to bear, especially when every step he take jostles it, impact tremors sending constant pulsations circulating throughout his lower body. Set to a low simmer, it has simply made him numb at this point, fueling an ache in his oversensitive prostate.

But the bell definitely takes the cake.

This particular bell is part of a sinister ball stretching device made of metal instead of leather, so it's entirely unyielding, with hex screws to keep it uncomfortably snug. When he moves certain ways, it not only stretches his sack, it upsets the clapper inside the bell, and the bell makes a noise. It's worse when he bends over to pick something up, which Kurt knows. Blaine has been doing the rounds, at Kurt's command, and every time Blaine walks by, Kurt finds something to drop – a fork, a napkin, his keys. Then Blaine has to stop, brace without being obvious, and bend over.

If the bell makes a noise and Kurt hears it, Kurt ratchets up the vibrations. For now, Blaine has been able to avoid the vibrator going much higher than the second setting.

When they first got it, Kurt wasted no time sticking it inside Blaine and turning it to high. Blaine didn't only cum, he wet his pants.

Without a change of clothing, Blaine doesn't want to lose bladder control here, at the _Vogue_ after party for the release of Tom Ford's 2016 Winter Collection.

The bell feels way too big crammed inside the tight pants that Kurt chose for him to wear this evening. Blaine feels like a penguin waddling around the room, afraid that everyone notices, even though they're nose deep into their champagne flutes and filthy gossip that doesn't concern him.

"Blaine," Kurt calls a terse second time.

"I'm coming," Blaine calls back, trying not to come off as annoyed. He strolls as best he can across the room while, inside his ass, he feels the vibrator speed up a notch.

 _Damn_!

"Here he is," Kurt announces with a satisfied smile when his sub finally arrives. "You all remember my boyfriend, Blaine Anderson, rising Broadway star extraordinaire."

"Hello," Blaine says to the faces around him, and the faces, "Hello," back. These are faces of people he's been introduced to before, and whom he should know, but for the buzzing in his ass, he can't remember a single name. Worse yet, if he stands perfectly still, his vision starts to blur, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate.

"Guess what, Blaine? I was telling these wonderful people about how you just scored the role of Hedwig, and oops …" The pen that Kurt had in his hand, that he was gesturing with during the conversation, goes flying from his fingers. Blaine follows where it goes, watching it hit the floor, bounce, then somersault away.

"Oh! Clumsy me! Blaine, would you be a dear and get that? It's a present from Isabelle. I wouldn't want to lose it."

Blaine looks at the gold pen, lying on the floor, and swallows. He knows the longer he stares at it, someone else from Kurt's group will offer to pick it up, and that would mean an immediate increase in vibrations.

"Of course," Blaine says, tight smile masking the fact that he's trying his hardest to figure out how in the hell he's going to bend over and pick up that pen since most of his lower body has gone numb. If he crouches down, he's done for. He'll tear the crotch of his pants for sure. He can't get down on his knees because that's strictly forbidden. His only recourse is to bend over, but he knows that comes with a 50/50 chance of falling forward onto his face, and an even greater chance of jingling that bell.

Blaine sighs. He can do this. He knows he can. He can pick up the pen and avoid jingling that bell. He'd done it over a dozen times earlier, but he still has to make himself believe that he can.

Blaine bends over slowly, slower than he should. He folds at the waist till he reaches the pen. The knocker slides inside the bell, but not with enough force to make it jingle. Blaine blows out a breath, relieved. Grasping the pen with his fingers, he prepares mentally for the return trip. It should be as easy as that …

… but it isn't.

He feels a pinch in his flank. That pinch becomes the beginnings of a cramp. He feels it sprout to life, feels it blossom. He can't let it form. He can't add that on top of the insane radiating pain retarding his lower half. He has two options. Let the cramp develop, give Kurt the pen, then try to rub it out, which will more than likely be its own special kind of torture, or take his chances, stand up as smoothly as he can, and avoid it. As the torqueing agony spreads throughout his side, he has to go with choice B. It's a long shot, but it might work.

Blaine springs up to the surprised yelps of the eight people watching, but most profoundly Kurt, listening intently for any sign of a jingle.

There isn't one.

But before Blaine can get too cocky about succeeding, too proud for defeating the bell, inertia continues to carry him through. He's unable to stop it. It happens as if in slow motion. He plants his foot forward. He feels the bell move. When his heel touches the ground, he hears a single, stunted jingle, and Blaine freezes.

Kurt can't have heard. It was so faint, Blaine's not even sure it _was_ a jingle. It might just have been the sound of his belt buckle rubbing against itself, or the chain on his bow tie jangling.

It can't be the bell, and even if it was, Kurt can't have heard.

But no. One glance into Kurt's eyes and Blaine knows. Somehow, he heard. Blaine has no idea _how_ he heard, but he did.

Kurt reaches into his pocket.

Blaine holds his breath.

When Kurt turns the remote up to high, Blaine fights to remain standing. His body goes hot, then cold. His abs tense. That spot of temporary numbness and dull, thudding oversensitivity burns with the screaming vibrations of the plug. They bypass his prostate and hit his muscles, making his entire lower body shake, the sharp pulses like needles pinging through his nerves. He feels himself take a knee, descending to the floor at half-speed, his body collapsing in on itself trying to encompass the thing causing the pain. Then he curls into a ball. He can't help it. He can't stay standing. He can't pull himself straight. It's just too much.

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt crouches down to check on him. "Are you having fun down here?" he asks, running a hand down Blaine's back.

"Is he okay?"

"Is he going to be ill?"

"He's fine," Kurt says, addressing the worried faces looking down at them from above. "I'm sure it's just a little stomach thing."

"A stomach thing?" one woman says. She puts a hand to her stomach, wondering if that slight acid reflux she felt earlier might actually be a touch of food poisoning.

"Yeah. I'm not saying he has the flu or anything like that, but he has been hitting the tuna tartar pretty hard, and I don't know about you, but it smelled kind of funny. Didn't it smell funny to you?"

"I didn't notice …"

"I don't think …"

"Well, did they use the caterer from last time when …"

"Oh my God! Do you remember that?"

"Yes. Now that you mention it, it _did_ smell a little off …"

Kurt bites his lip in amusement as mutters of concern travel around the circle. And while the group engages in trading off horror stories of tainted hors d'oeuvres they've sampled at previous _Vogue_ functions, Kurt leans closer to Blaine's ear and whispers, "You know I love you. Don't you pet?"

"Y-yes, S-sir," Blaine stutters. "I d-do, S-sir."

"Good," Kurt says, kissing his sub on the shoulder and letting him suffer for a few more seconds on high before he turns the vibrating plug back down to low. "Just remember that. Because I might love you, but I may get a little less than fair later on."


	24. Doll Maker - part 2

**As part of the process of Blaine becoming Kurt's rag doll, Kurt decides to add a mark of ownership - one that harkens back to the days of Kurt's childhood, when his mother used to make dolls for him.**

 **PLEASE READ THESE NOTES! Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'sign' and lilinas's Bitchmas prompts 'decorate' and 'adoration'. Warning! This may squick you out! So just to be clear, even though this is not gory in any way (I promise), it is about Kurt embroidering a heart into the upper, calloused layer of Blaine's skin on his palm. This is something that I have done to myself as an exercise in both mindfulness and expression. If done correctly, it's not painful. But this shows the amount of faith that Blaine has in Kurt, and how dedicated Blaine is to becoming a doll. Also, there's a part at the end that's written figuratively. It is meant to show the parallels between how completely and thoroughly children love their toys and how much Kurt and Blaine love each other. IT IS NOT MEANT TO IMPLY THAT KURT SHOWS BLAINE LOVE THROUGH ABUSE! I have a feeling that someone is going to make a comment just like this one, and I want to cut it off at the knees. Remember that you are reading a story about D/s and BDSM. Different rules apply here. Rules that are carefully thought out, with nothing left to chance or taken for granted. Sometimes I think people read my stories without taking that into account, or just so that they can be appalled. This is D/s. Very real life D/s. Bare that in mind. Also warning for mild anxiety, mention of a childhood injury that needed stitches, and a mention of fear of blood.**

"How are you doing, pet? Are you green?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you sure? Any chance that you're yellow and you're not telling me? Because you need to let me know, pet."

"No, Sir. I Promise. I'm green. Completely green."

Kurt smiles, pinching his lip between his teeth in concentration. "Good boy," he says, in a distracted murmur. "You're such a good boy, Blaine. Such a patient boy …"

Blaine sighs in relaxation from Kurt's praise, from the constant muttering of it underneath Kurt's breath as he works. _Good boy_ , _patient boy_ , _handsome boy_ , on and on and on, each one helping Blaine breathe easier.

Making this more bearable.

Blaine watches Kurt with lowered eyes as, stitch after stitch, the image Kurt's creating blooms to life, one burst of color at a time. It's a simple embroidery – a single heart in varying shades of pink, crooked and uneven to give it an arts and crafts-y quality. Set against the canvas of Blaine's tan skin, the colors pop with an orgasmic vibrancy.

Normally, Blaine loves watching Kurt sew, especially by hand – the intense focus in his cool, blue eyes; his furrowed brow; his nimble fingers; the care he puts into every stitch. But this is markedly different, and Blaine didn't want to watch. He's squeamish when it comes to things like this. The first time he ever had to get stitches (to close up a cut in his thigh when four-year-old him fell off his bike and landed in a thicket), he saw the doctor bringing the needle towards him, and he threw up. Then he passed out, which earned him a second cut that needed stitches since he hit his head on the corner of a counter of his way to the ground.

He remembers being unable to sit still at the time, flinching with each stitch so excessively that the doctor recommended sedating him so that he wouldn't accidentally poke Blaine in the eye. But Blaine barely moves when the needle pierces his skin. He didn't really at the beginning either, a twitch or two, maybe a lip curl, but he's motionless now, at one with the chair underneath him – an object, steady and inanimate. It's good practice for what's coming next.

For being a doll.

It wasn't the idea of the pain that bothered Blaine. It was more the process – having something sewn onto his hand for non-medical purposes seemed so Wes Craven. He imagined stinging and blood, like constant razor nicks, Kurt's needle leaving a series of pricks that would well nonstop. Blaine couldn't wait for it to be over. But Blaine is oddly okay with this now. Of course, that's because it's Kurt. It's all about Kurt. If this wasn't Kurt's idea, if Kurt wasn't the one doing this, Blaine would feel trapped, like he did that day at the doctor's office. He'd feel anxious. He'd want to run. He'd feel infringed on. Violated. But that's the thing about Kurt, about the trust Blaine has in Kurt. As long as Kurt is pulling the strings, so to speak, Blaine is willing to do just about anything. And that's not only because of his need to serve. It's the tremendous amount of faith he has in Kurt.

Kurt would never betray his trust. He'd never take advantage. Even when they do things that their vanilla friends would consider insane, Kurt's main concern at all times is Blaine's welfare.

Kurt will keep Blaine safe no matter what. Blaine knows this.

This idea came about while Kurt was going over his plans to make Blaine's second doll costume. Looking at Kurt's sketches, Blaine wasn't entirely sure how he felt about being a _rag doll_. When Kurt had mentioned _dress up doll_ , Blaine had a slightly different image in mind. Then Kurt started explaining his motivations, about wanting something to cuddle, something soft, something comforting, something that reminded him of the dolls his mom would make for him, and it finally started to appeal to Blaine, too. Because he wants to be those things for Kurt. He cherishes being Kurt's safe space, in all of its forms. If this appeals to Kurt on such an intimate level, then Blaine wants to be this for him.

Kurt's mom would sew hearts on the hands and feet of the dolls she made, so Kurt decided to add that element. Experimenting with Blaine's doll makeup, Kurt had drawn the heart on Blaine's palm using pink and red eyeliners. He had taken his time, the way he is now with the sewing, carefully placing every line, filling it in with different shades. And it looked amazing. Blaine couldn't believe how authentic it seemed, like felt and floss instead of makeup and skin. Blaine had said, and he meant it, that he wished it could be a more permanent part of his doll persona. Kurt gave it some thought, then he said, "I can do that."

Originally Kurt had considered making an applique out of fabric and gluing it to Blaine's skin, but that seemed so artificial. Insincere. Blaine has worked hard to get to this point. He wants to be a doll, inside and out. He wants to be _Kurt's_ doll.

Sewing the heart onto his hand seems to align with that desire more accurately. It's a testament to what Blaine is willing to do, one worthy of Blaine's commitment and dedication.

"There. You're finished," Kurt says, cutting the thread as close to Blaine's palm as he can. "Tell me what you think, pet."

Blaine takes a deep breath, swallows down just the tiniest bit of nausea, and brings his hand closer to his face to get a better look at his new adornment. Blaine has to give Kurt credit. He was squicked out by this originally, but, as in most everything Kurt does, he did an amazing job. Not just the artistry of the heart, taking such a simple concept and making something so extraordinary. Kurt has the hands of a surgeon. The heart, sewn in shades of pink, mulberry, rose, strawberry, and magenta, barely hurt at all. From what Blaine can tell when he examines it, the stitches don't sit any farther than the very top layer of his skin, which, at this point, is mostly calloused anyway, regardless of the amount of moisturizer Kurt makes him use.

With this stamp sewn into the heel of Blaine's hand, he feels like a _real_ doll.

He is marked.

He is owned.

He is _loved_. Not that he wasn't always, but he is now in that way that toys are, especially the kinds treasured by children, who write their names on the things they prize the most, play with them the hardest, and leave signs of their affection in the forms of busted seams and missing pieces.

Toys loved by children are usually loved until they fall apart, and then patient hands put them lovingly back together again.

The way Kurt does with Blaine.

His palm is sore in a new way, this pain a symbol of Blaine's being elevated to a new status.

"Thank you, Sir," Blaine says. He takes Kurt's right hand, the hand that held the needle, and presses gentle kisses to the back. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, pet," Kurt says, running his fingers through Blaine's curls. "Now, why don't we get you dressed? Hmm? I think it's time to play."


	25. Waiting Game

**Dom Kurt has devised a game to test his sub Blaine's limits with regard to how long he can stem his anxiety before he says yellow. This way, Kurt can gauge Blaine's progress. Blaine's reward? A spanking, using any one of the number of implements Kurt has lined up on Blaine's naked back. Or maybe not one of those …**

 **It's not about the pain. It's about the anticipation.**

 **Warning for light bondage, spanking, mention of anxiety, and masturbation.**

 **Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt 'impact' and lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'games'.**

 **Part 46 of the Taking a Journey Together series.**

A cane.

A wooden spoon.

A hairbrush.

A meat tenderizer.

A tawse.

Kurt lays them over Blaine's naked back as he lies on his stomach on their bed, wrists bound, ankles bound, ass already delightfully red from a spanking. That was a warmup, done with Kurt's hand, and in layers, Kurt stripping Blaine of his clothes after each series of swats, the removal of layers intensifying the pain from dull, relaxing thud to harsh sting.

If asked, Blaine would say that that last layer before Kurt's hand meets bare skin is the worst

Because his Dom's hand is so close, and yet still so far.

If Kurt is going to spank Blaine, Blaine would prefer it be done with the flat of his Dom's hand than anything else.

That spanking lasted close to half an hour from start to finish, but it was far from the main event.

For this exercise in testing Blaine's limits – in this case, the amount to which he can maintain his calm while being left in the dark as Kurt raises his anxiety level inch by carefully monitored but excruciating inch - Kurt chooses implements that Blaine can identify by touch.

But that doesn't mean those are the ones that he's going to use.

The anticipation is the true agony of this exercise. Today's session is solely impact play, and Kurt has isolated the playing field to Blaine's ass and thighs. _That_ Kurt's not going to change. He wants Blaine to be prepared for what he's in for in general. This is supposed to be a fun exercise, not a triggering one, but it's also about negotiation.

Kurt wants to see how far he can go before he makes Blaine say _yellow_. He'll analyze what made Blaine say it and why. That way he can gauge Blaine's progress.

Kurt sits in a plain, wooden chair at the foot of the bed. He props his bare feet on the mattress beside Blaine's - near, but not touching. In absolutely no hurry, he contemplates starting with one of the items on Blaine's back. Of course, he could start with something he left on the bed where Blaine can't see – a paddle, a crop, or his vampire gloves. Maybe he'll pick something off the wall that they haven't used in a while, like his rose flogger. He could use a rolled up magazine, a spatula, a shoe, a piece of tubing, a belt. He could leave Blaine there for a while – walk out of the loft and stroll down to the park to cut a switch from one of the trees.

His choices are limited only by his imagination. But, for now, he'll appreciate the buildup. It's hell for Blaine … and heaven for Kurt. It makes him hard watching Blaine try to relax under scrutiny, anticipating what Kurt will do and when for a little while longer before he gives over entirely. And in that moment in between, Kurt decides to indulge. He sticks his hand down his pants and strokes himself, using lube so that Blaine knows what he's doing. Even if he can't see, Blaine can hear the flip top on the bottle, the squelch of the lube being squeezed out. He hears Kurt pleasuring himself with his own hands while Blaine's body lies bound and unused. Kurt might let himself cum, moaning loudly, bucking in his chair so the feet of it clatter against the floor. Then he'll let it go to waste on the floor for Blaine to clean up later instead of letting Blaine feel Kurt cum on his body.

Then, after that, who knows? Kurt can make himself a sandwich, take a shower, maybe even masturbate again where Blaine can watch, so Blaine knows exactly what he's missing while he's cooling off, waiting for Kurt to return to his spanking. And Blaine wants that spanking _so_ badly.

In this game, the pain is the relief.

It's the waiting that's torture.


	26. In Love with Your Blacks and Blues

**K** **urt takes a moment to appreciate a vivid side-effect of Blaine's mishaps on stage.**

 **Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompts 'rehearsal' and 'adoration', since Kurt is adoring something that Blaine has gotten during Hedwig rehearsals xD Inspired by someone's blacks and blues that I have been insanely jealous of lately, and harkens back to the photos Darren posted during his Broadway Hedwig run of his bruised legs in the bath.**

"Hmm," Blaine hums as the fog of lilac and jasmine scented steam rises, filling his sinuses when he takes a nice, long breath in, "thank you for taking care of me, Sir."

"It's no problem, pet." Kurt works open the buttons to Blaine's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders as soon as they're undone, in a hurry to see his sub undressed. "You had a rough rehearsal. That was quite a bit of falling you did."

Blaine winces at the memory. "Yes, Sir. The costume department made me new boots, and I had to break them in, but I think the heels were a little loose." Blaine hisses as Kurt starts pulling his t-shirt up over his battered hips, both joints blossoming with color. "They definitely took me down more than once."

"But you'll tell them about that, won't you, pet," Kurt commands, staring with a soft smile into Blaine's rapidly relaxing face.

"Yes, I will, Sir," Blaine murmurs. "I'll call them ( _yawn_ ) first thing in the morning."

"And I'll make sure you do." Kurt pulls down Blaine's pants, lingering for a moment while they're pooled around his ankles. He examines his sub's skin, stopping to kiss certain spots, trace them over and over with his tongue before he helps Blaine out of his pants one foot at a time. And Blaine, loopy from exhaustion, does his best to keep his knees from wobbling as his Dom presses kisses to his sore skin, his nose tickling the hairs along Blaine's calves and inner thighs. "Now, let's get you in the water. Hmm? Get you all nice and soapy."

"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate everything you do for me, Sir."

"Well, it's my job to do everything in my power to keep you safe and healthy. And I take that job seriously," Kurt reassures him, helping his sub into the hot water. "Though once we get that shoe problem sorted out, there is _one_ thing I'll be sad to see go."

Blaine rolls his head on the lip of the tub and looks at his Dom, whose attention is elsewhere, eyes roaming down Blaine's body, focusing on his hips and legs. "And what's that, Sir?"

Kurt reaches underneath the water. His fingertips graze purple marks on Blaine's flesh that he didn't put there. He outlines them with gentle caresses, licking his lips in a hungry way. "All of these _beautiful_ bruises."


	27. Affirmation

**While washing dishes, Kurt catches Blaine doing something that clues him in to the fact that Blaine might not be feeling too good about himself. Kurt tries to change that … but doesn't have a lot of success. But Kurt promises Blaine that they'll work on it, so that Blaine will someday see all of the wonderful things that Kurt sees when he looks at his sub.**

 **Warning for anxiety and talk of washing Blaine's mouth out with soap.**

 **Part 48 of the Taking a Journey Together series.**

"Tell me how you're feeling about yourself today, pet."

"Uh …" Blaine stops washing the dishes. He's unprepared to give an answer, this simple question catching him off guard. "I'm sorry, Sir. Can you please repeat the question?"

"How are you feeling about yourself today? Right this second?"

"Fine, I guess, Sir," Blaine replies, fiddling with the soapy bowl in his hands. Blaine feels that's a sufficient answer. It has been kind of a rough day, but he's not really in the mood to discuss it. Though he shouldn't make the decision not to talk about it without his Dom. He's supposed to tell Kurt everything that's bothering him, and then Kurt decides what they work on and when. But a few things happened today that were a little too embarrassing to own up to, like the fact that one of the wardrobe manager's assistants mentioned that they would need to size Blaine's costume up from the pattern that they had created a few days back. Not that she said it in a cruel, or even criticizing way. Further conversation indicated that they had taken his measurements incorrectly to begin with. The difference was only about an inch, but that still bothered him. He worked so hard on maintaining his physique, and the last choreographer he worked with on _Kinky Boots_ was often less than complimentary.

But everyone working behind the scenes of _Hedwig_ have been nothing but supportive. He's thankful for that because this new costume will be a lot more revealing than any other costume he's worn before.

And that was another thing bothering him. He isn't the kind of person who shows off his body too often. But not only would he be showing it off, he would be sitting in people's laps, thrusting in their faces … kissing them. How could he do all of that and not disrespect Kurt?

Kurt and Blaine had had a long talk about the difference between acting and cheating. It had to do with intent, Kurt said. Kurt had told Blaine that he would be respecting Kurt in this instance by doing his very best on stage while privately acknowledging his intent. He wasn't cheating on his Dom; he was playing a part. Doing his job, a job he got payment and recognition for. In fact, he would be serving his Dom by performing well and enjoying himself – making Kurt proud. And Blaine agreed. Kurt had resolved the argument quicker than Blaine had thought they could, and Blaine was relieved that Kurt saw things that way. That should have made Blaine feel better.

But it hasn't.

That is an issue Blaine needs to iron out, an issue he should be asking his Dom to help him with … only he hasn't. He's too ashamed to admit that the conversations they've had haven't solved it for him.

Yes, all of these things were on his head, and maybe they were affecting the way he felt about himself, but how did Kurt know? Blaine does have a tendency to get lost in thought when he's doing his chores. Did it show on his face? Was he mumbling? Arguing with himself? He knew that if he asked Kurt, Kurt wouldn't tell him. These things that Blaine does when he's not paying attention are his tells. They clue Kurt in when something is wrong. Kurt wouldn't give away those secrets, especially not to Blaine so he can learn how to hide them.

Kurt stands from his seat and walks over to him, taking the dish out of his hands and putting it in the sink. He waits only a second longer for an answer to his question, then says, "Tell me you're handsome."

"I'm …" Blaine leaps to obey, but his mouth pinches shut around the words, and he subconsciously shakes his head.

"Do it, pet, or accept punishment. And this time, it won't be a spanking. I'll wash your mouth out with soap until you learn to repeat what I tell you."

"Yes, Sir. I … I'm sorry, Sir … I …"

"Tell me you're handsome."

Blaine swallows, forces his mouth open, and makes himself speak without thinking too hard about the words. "I'm handsome, Sir."

"Tell me you're talented."

"I'm talented, Sir."

"Tell me that you deserve all of the wonderful things that are coming your way."

Blaine sniffs in, works his tongue inside his mouth to clear away the last two statements in preparation for this one. "I deserve all of the wonderful things that are coming my way, Sir."

Kurt looks in his sub's eyes as Blaine's gaze returns, by default, to the floor. "You know, pet, most of the time you are an amazing actor. One of the best I've ever seen." He sighs. "But not this time."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Blaine says with a crack in his words, assuming punishment will follow. And that punishment promises to be extremely unpleasant if Kurt is planning on washing his mouth out with soap. Blaine understands why he would – to clean away the lies Kurt feels that Blaine tells himself so he can replace them with these words that are so damned difficult for Blaine to say.

"No, I'm sorry," Kurt says, drying Blaine's hands on a dish towel, then wrapping his arms around him, "because you don't see what I see. You don't seem to believe the things that are so obvious to everyone else – your agent, your vocal coach, your dance instructor, _me_."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Blaine repeats because what else is there for him to say? It would be so easy to just recite what Kurt tells him to, like a parrot. But Blaine knows that when they perform this exercise that Kurt expects Blaine to believe the things he's saying. And he doesn't. Not yet. "I don't know how to fix it, Sir."

"We'll fix it together, the way we fix everything," Kurt reassures him. "I will teach … and you will learn. And you will do fabulously, the way you always do."


	28. Fidget Toy

**Kurt is a fidgeter. He likes to keep his hands busy. He has many toys, many means of doing this, each one specific to a certain situation.**

 **But his submissive Blaine is, by far, his favorite fidget toy.**

 **And here come the notes! You know you love them ;) This is supposed to be a portrayal of another way that a Dominant may benefit from their partner's submission. D/s fics tend to focus on a submissive's "flaws" or "issues" and how Domination helps solve those problems, which implies that Dominants are God-like creatures with no problems whatsoever (none that they can't solve for themselves in private with no help from anyone) and that, for a submissive, Domination is ALWAYS the answer. But that's not the case. Kurt and Blaine are human, blah-blah-blah, we've gone through this a thousand times. Also, this is not meant to imply in any way that Kurt is autistic or has ADHD - not that those things are impossible for him. But as I am personally not a person with autism or ADHD, it would be wrong of me to write from that perspective. I am, however, a creative, intelligent person, who fidgets. Ergo, I have written Kurt as an intelligent, creative person who fidgets. He fidgets the way I fidget, and he finds relief/comfort the way I find relief/comfort. It also shows to contrast between self-soothing, and using another person as an instrument for soothing. I am writing from what I know. My experience is not everyone's experience. Other people will have different experiences. This is just one. Now, shall we get on to the actual story? Yes? Let's ...**

Kurt is a fidgeter.

He's never been officially diagnosed with anything that has fidgeting as a symptom, he just does it. It doesn't interfere with the natural flow of his everyday life, it's just a habit. It makes him comfortable in stressful situations. It helps keep him calm when he hits mental roadblocks. Growing up, it's not something he consciously noticed – twiddling a pencil in his fingers while he drew or practicing piano scales on the tabletop at breakfast were the norm - so he can't say _when_ it started. It's just something that's always _been_. He's happier when he's moving, when he's working, when he's doing. He likes to keep his hands busy. He didn't recognize the extent of it until he reached high school. His choir teacher would mention it, _constantly_ : "Kurt, we're not doing jazz hands. Stop wiggling your fingers ... Kurt, pay more attention to what you're doing with your hands ... Kurt, I need you to stop thrumming your fingers against your thigh ... Kurt, please don't ball your hands into fists. This is an emotional number. You look stressed …"

It was then that he became conscious of it, but he never felt _self-conscious_ about it. He just found ways to keep his hands occupied.

Usually he draws, sews, or crochets, which solves two problems at once – it keeps his hands working and his mind creatively active. But when that's not practical, he plays.

He keeps fidget toys hidden all over, in his pockets and his bag, the loft, and all over his office. He finds that as long as his hands are occupied, it's easier for him to focus.

He has interlocking links that he twists, and nylon mesh tubes he can stick his fingers in and tug on while he talks on the phone.

He wears a titanium ring on his right index finger that he spins with his thumb while he peruses through photographs.

He has a Jacob's ladder he fiddles with when he needs a few minutes break between tasks.

He keeps bubble wrap in his top desk drawer to pop when he's ironing out his trip itinerary.

He carries a color changing egg in his pocket at all times. It's smooth to the touch, and soothing to rub and look at when he feels a headache coming on.

He has heat sensitive tape that he wraps around his fingers while he Skypes, curling his hands into fists from time to time to watch the colors change.

He even keeps a lollypop or two on hand for the rare emergency oral fixation.

But Blaine's body is Kurt's favorite fidget toy.

Anytime Kurt works at home that Blaine isn't otherwise occupied, he keeps his sub beside him, naked in a chair within easy reach, where Kurt can toy with him when the need arises.

Practicing Shibari knots is one of Kurt's favorite ways to fidget. He gets strange looks when he practices at the office, usually on his own leg, but at home, he has the full range of Blaine's body to tie and manipulate, using whichever rope provides the stimulus he needs most – soft, pliable, yielding cotton for meditative thinking, or rough nylon, a rope that fights against itself, when he needs to overcome hurdles. Just like with his Jacob's ladder, when Kurt needs a break between tasks, he'll rig Blaine up over their bed and lie beneath him, turning his sub this way and that while he's suspended above him. The rope creaks in a relaxing rhythm as Blaine swings, and Kurt watches the way Blaine's curls flutter as he slowly spins, the way even his eyelashes wave with the breeze created by the movement.

When Kurt hits his stride and needs to keep his flow going, he'll knock his spinner ring against Blaine's metal cock cage, experimenting with tone from base to tip, or rolling it up and down the length, marking time with the motion.

Sometimes he abandons work for a few minutes to indulge his need for oral stimulation, getting on his knees and blowing his sub, concentrating on the change from soft to hard as Kurt sucks him in. Or he'll sit in Blaine's lap and toy with his nipples, licking them or flicking them until they become pebbly and hard, then sitting still and watching in fixated fascination as they smooth out and soften. He tries not to do either of those when he's working on a deadline. He can become absolutely lost in making Blaine hard and then watching him go soft, making him hard again, then watching him go soft again, over and over for hours.

For quick oral fixes, he'll chew on one of Blaine's fingers, cover it in honey and take his time licking it off, counting how many licks it takes before the honey's gone and the only flavor in his mouth is the salt from Blaine's skin.

Instead of playing with his egg, Kurt will stroke Blaine's shaft or fondle his balls, trading the soothing spectrum of colors the egg turns for Blaine's pink to red flush and the melodic whimpers he makes. Kurt can time them, predict them, conduct them like a symphony. That reliable consistency brings him comfort. When his thoughts become scattered, it helps him feel more in control.

Sometimes he combines Blaine with one of his other favorite toys. He'll cover Blaine's rear in bubble wrap and then spank him wearing his vampire gloves, or wrap Blaine's cock in color change tape and hold so Kurt can see the intricate details of his handprint on Blaine's skin.

Kurt knows that, in the midst of all the ways that Blaine benefits from Kurt's Domination, Blaine takes for granted just how much Kurt _needs_ Blaine, how Blaine's submission benefits _him_. Their relationship isn't one-sided. It's about give and take in so many ways. Blaine is so many things to Kurt beyond submissive, lover, and friend. He's a comfort item, a coping mechanism. He's a toy. He's shelter, and a crutch.

He's his muse, his inspiration.

Sometimes Kurt _has_ to fidget alone. Blaine and his body can become too big a distraction – his warmth, the noises he makes, the reactions of his body. They make Kurt want for longer sessions, ones that require more rope and cuffs, a variety of toys, and a change in location.

When that happens, Blaine doesn't get banished. He gets reassigned - either to ottoman duty, so Kurt can put his feet up; or table duty, standing beside his Dom to hold Kurt's paperwork or his lamp.

But that's a wonderful problem for Kurt to have, and he's grateful for it.

He's grateful for _Blaine_.


	29. Kurt's Safe Space

**Blaine is worried that something is wrong with Kurt. But as Blaine's Dom, it's Kurt's responsibility to manage Blaine's worries. But if Kurt is Blaine's worry, who does he go to?**

 **And what if Blaine's right? What if Kurt needs his help? (**

 ** _A/N: This is another one-shot meant to emphasize a number of things with regard to Blaine's function in this relationship: the fact that Blaine knows Kurt just as much as Kurt knows Blaine, so if something is wrong with Kurt, Blaine knows about it; the fact that Blaine needs Kurt's help to cope, but he's also strong enough and smart enough to use the coping skills that Kurt has already taught him to figure things out on his own; and just like Kurt is Blaine's safe space, Blaine is Kurt's safe space. Just as Kurt gives Blaine security, Blaine gives Kurt that same security as well._**

 **Warnings for angst and anxiety.**

 **Part 50 of the Taking a Journey Together series.**

Kurt has been uncharacteristically non-communicative today.

Of course, Kurt has been at the _Vogue_ offices all day and Blaine at the theater, which are across town from one another, but that's never stopped them from keeping in touch before. Even if Kurt can't talk, he usually sends Blaine little messages of love and encouragement throughout the day. The least amount Blaine has ever gotten is three, and Kurt was away at the time, meeting with a designer in Milan. His cell phone service was patchy and his battery died twice, but he made it up to Blaine later with an extensive Skype session at bedtime.

Today, Blaine's only gotten one message from Kurt - a single, short _I love you_ , without any personalization, no emoji or pet name, which Kurt adds to all of his _I love you_ texts. Kurt has texted Blaine in response to the normal, routine things, in confirmation of the daily tasks that Kurt assigns – a pic of every meal and snack Blaine eats, a photo of any new injuries he sustains during practice, and every time Blaine uses the restroom. But aside from that, Blaine hasn't heard from him.

It could be that Blaine is spoiled by the attention he gets that he thinks Kurt's lack of communication is unusual. Blaine shouldn't expect the extras all of the time. But Blaine doesn't think he's that much of a brat. He isn't pouting. Something about Kurt's silence doesn't sit right with him. Blaine knows Kurt so much better now than he did months ago. Kurt has always gone out of his way to let Blaine know how much he loves and appreciates him. Kurt has never been this detached, even in the beginning when they were first learning one another.

Kurt seemed so much stricter then than he does now, but that's because Blaine didn't 100% understand what he had gotten in to. Kurt is always upfront and honest when it comes to their relationship, even when it concerns things he thinks Blaine won't like to hear. This isn't worrying about them as a couple. It's worrying about _Kurt_.

Blaine tries not to worry _too_ much. Kurt has always said that that's what _he_ is there for – to manage Blaine's worries. But if Blaine is worried about Kurt, who does he go to? The answer, of course, is Kurt. It's a catch-22 that has his head spinning, but he has to approach this conundrum rationally.

What would Kurt say?

He would say that there are going to be off days. Blaine has his off days. Kurt is allowed to have them, too. And as long as Kurt hits all of the usual markers, then the extras don't matter. They're nice – of course, they're nice. But they can be pushed aside if, say, Kurt runs late in a meeting, or he ends up at a last minute consultation, or a number of other completely probable things.

Being able to rationalize that in his head makes his worries easier to manage. Blaine is proud that he can sort it out from beginning to end alone and come up with a logical conclusion.

And yet, it's not enough. His worries are about Kurt. Ultimately, Blaine needs Kurt to tell him for himself that everything's okay.

As soon as rehearsals let out, Blaine bolts for the subway. He goes over his rationale one more time to stop his heart pounding in his chest. Everything's fine. Kurt must have had a long day. He's not acting all _that_ unusual. In fact, he texted about ten minutes prior to acknowledge Blaine's message that he's on his way home. But that text is part of the reason why Blaine is running instead of walking.

Not because it was any different from Kurt's normal acknowledgement texts. It was worded exactly the same as every evening check-in text Kurt has sent him since the first.

It's the fact that it's misspelled that started Blaine's heart.

 _See you son_ instead of _See you soon_.

That isn't like Kurt. That isn't like Kurt at all.

Just as Blaine has quirks, and issues that he obsesses about, so does Kurt, and triple checking his texts and emails is one. He wouldn't have sent a text with a misspelled word, not even to Blaine, and if he'd caught it after, he would have sent a follow up text correcting the error.

 _*soon_

And Blaine waited for it. But when it didn't arrive, Blaine grabbed his stuff and raced for the door.

It's ten o'clock. On any other day, he'd make it to the loft at about 10:45. Kurt would have already eaten, leaving his dishes in the sink for Blaine to wash, and be in the shower, washing off the remains of the day. Blaine would come home, undress, put his clothes away, and kneel at the bathroom door to wait for his Master, making himself available to tend to his Master's needs. Depending on what Kurt wanted (anything from a blow to being dried and dressed), Blaine would attend him. Then Blaine would be excused to eat his dinner, kneeling at his spot on the floor beside Kurt's chair at the kitchen table. Afterwards, he would wrap up his evening chores and then join Kurt in bed.

Tonight, Blaine makes it home at 10:30.

The loft is dark. There are no dishes in the sink. The shower isn't running. At first glance, it looks like the loft is empty, and Blaine considers the possibility that maybe Kurt hasn't made it home yet. But he hears a breath – a muffled inhale from behind a hand … or a handkerchief.

Blaine walks in and closes the door.

"Sir?" he calls. The rules dictate that, when plans deviate from the norm, Blaine should undress, kneel at his spot on the floor, and wait for further instruction. But this is far from a deviation. This situation exists outside of the rules. So he'll approach his Dom the same way he would any time he needs guidance, because he _does_ need guidance.

He needs to know how he can help his Master. That's something only Kurt can tell him.

Blaine finds Kurt sitting on the edge of their bed, staring at his phone. He doesn't know if Kurt is waiting for a call, or if he's just gotten off one, but he looks extremely distraught.

"Sir?" Blaine says, coming up beside him. "May I sit? Or do you want me to kneel?"

Kurt doesn't answer out loud, but pats the seat beside him.

"Sir?" Blaine says, settling onto the mattress. "Is there something wrong?"

Kurt swipes a thumb over the screen of his phone. Blaine thinks Kurt might be locking it so Blaine can't see, but the screen is black, moisture streaking the surface.

"My dad …" Kurt's voice catches and Blaine knows it can't be good "… he … he has cancer."

"Oh, Kurt." Blaine didn't mean to say anything. He definitely didn't mean to call Kurt by his name, but he couldn't help it. Of all the people in the world that Blaine knows, Kurt's father just can't ever seem to catch a break.

"He called me this morning to tell me," Kurt explains. "He sounded happy. He said they found it early, and that that was … that was good. He was just waiting for some test results so they would know how to proceed. But about an hour ago, my stepmother called. They had to rush him to the emergency room. She didn't have time to tell me why, and I …" Kurt shakes his head, slow and sluggish, stuck in a daze. "I don't know what to do. I just … I don't know …"

Blaine knows that's not the case. He knows that Kurt will formulate a plan – get time off work, buy plane tickets, put on his brave face and go out there to see how his father's doing, make sure he's getting the best possible care. That's a forgone conclusion. Because he's done it before, too many times as far as Blaine's concerned. Aside from their advancing age, Blaine's mom and dad have been blessed with exceptional health. Blaine feels guilty over how much he's never had to worry about them. But for Kurt's dad, it's a constant struggle, one that's worsened lately. There have been more appointments than usual, more tests, more consultations, and Kurt couldn't be present for any of them. Kurt feels so far away from his father, and today, that distance must have increased tenfold. For now, he's lost. He'll get there eventually, but sitting on this mattress, staring at his phone - the very instrument that can help him get what he wants, get to where he's going - he doesn't know how to begin.

Kurt's mother died of cancer. Blaine knows. He's been told the stories of the days leading up to her death – the phone calls in the middle of the night, the emergency room visits, the urgency, the fear.

Blaine can't relate to how Kurt is feeling right now, but his heart is breaking for him. To be in danger of losing a second parent to a similar disease that took the first must be the realization of a nightmare.

Again, Blaine waits for Kurt to give him a command, to tell him how he can help him, but if Kurt doesn't know how to get to the one person he wants to see more than anything, he probably doesn't have it in him to give Blaine any sort of instructions.

"Sir?" Blaine says, voice even, calm. He doesn't want it shaking, doesn't want Kurt to think he needs comforting when it's Kurt who needs the comfort. "May I hold you?" But even before the words are completely out of his mouth, Kurt nods and moves closer. Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt, and Kurt falls against Blaine.

Blaine may not understand what it's like to have someone he loves in the frightening position that Kurt's father is in, but he knows _this_. Blaine has felt derailed before, absolutely cut off at the knees. He's cried until he didn't think there was a tear left in his body, and then he's cried more. He remembers being a child, crying in his bed with his head in his pillow because he didn't want his parents to hear; or in his first apartment in New York, alone because there _was_ no one to hear. He remembers the way the pain would knot in his chest and make it impossible for him to breathe.

He remembers thinking that that was the end, there was no way things could get better. He'd feel like that forever, there was no way to fix it.

But then Blaine found Kurt. Kurt helps take that pain away.

No, he doesn't exactly take it away, he teaches Blaine how to handle it. He proves to Blaine that Blaine's bigger than the pain, stronger than the fear. When Blaine becomes anxious, overwhelmed, or scared, instead of surrendering to the pain, Blaine surrenders to Kurt. Kurt removes all that, and in the holes remaining he puts the things Blaine needs to stand up and keep going, the tools he needs to prevail – love, acceptance, patience, structure, rules, guidance. When Blaine's been stripped down to his barest elements, exhausted beyond the brink, with just pieces of himself remaining, Kurt wraps his arms around him and holds him, cleans him up, sings to him, lavishes him with praise, and Blaine feels those pieces sew back together, sew over the holes to keep those tools in place.

Blaine is doing that for Kurt now – rocking Kurt in his arms, filling some of the remaining holes left by the loss of his mother, and new ones created by the fear that he's about to lose his father. When Blaine hears Kurt's breathing stumble, Blaine holds on tight. When he feels Kurt's chest stutter, he holds on tighter. When Kurt can't sit up straight any longer, Blaine cradles him against his chest and rests Kurt's head over his heart. Blaine wraps his world around him and keeps him sheltered for a while. Because Blaine is Kurt's safe space. Kurt gives Blaine security and structure, comfort and reassurance, but every so often, Blaine gets the chance to return the favor. And Blaine will keep Kurt safe for as long as he needs, until he has enough strength to move forward again.


	30. Humiliation - Edging

**For his own amusement, Kurt has his submissive engage in a little at home humiliation by edging on the furniture.**

 **Sigh … I know that someone is going to make a comment about a part where Kurt leaves the loft door open, inviting the possibility that their neighbors may, in fact, hear or see Blaine edging, and why is it that Kurt doesn't mind Blaine doing that here when he wouldn't dominate him at school? Because school, if you may remember, was a toxic environment for Blaine. Also, since Kurt has positioned himself at the door, he's essentially guarding the hallway. Therefore, even though the threat of discovery is still there, Kurt is basically controlling who sees Blaine and who doesn't. But Blaine doesn't necessarily have to know that. Okay? Okay. Moving on …**

 **Dom Kurt, sub Blaine. Warning for humiliation, edging, and masturbation.**

 **Part 51 in the Taking a Journey Together Series**

The kettle on the stove starts to whistle just as Blaine's ladybug timer goes off.

Fifteen minutes have passed. That means it's nine-fifteen in the morning. Through the meditative brume that Blaine hovers within, one where he tries to focus solely on what his body is doing to keep himself in check, Blaine can acknowledge this.

Nine-fifteen. This is just the beginning of Blaine's day.

Kurt walks into the kitchen to re-set the timer and turn off the stove, but Blaine can't see him from where he's standing. Bent backward over the kitchen table so that his shoulders and head reach the surface, his feet wider than shoulder width apart and balanced on the balls, his ass propped against the side so that the bitter edge digs into his skin, the table offers Blaine no support whatsoever. The lean is as excruciating as it is complimentary, showcasing what Kurt says are some of the most desirable aspects of Blaine's form – his bulging thigh muscles, his defined abs, his sculpted chest, his shapely neck, and, of course, his Master's cock. Kurt has taken the use of Blaine's hands away, bound them behind his back from wrists to fingers with a piece of rope that isn't too stiff, but tight enough to rub him raw if he struggles.

Blaine listens for his Master as Kurt prepares a cup of morning tea. Making Kurt's tea would normally be Blaine's chore, but Kurt has set Blaine to a more important task.

Entertaining his Master.

Kurt takes his time in the kitchen measuring out two teaspoons of sugar and stirring it into his drink while Blaine flexes, trying without hands or manual stimulation of any kind to get hard enough to suit his Dom's needs, whatever they may be.

Blaine has yet to be informed.

Blaine grits his teeth behind relaxed lips when he hears the clatter of Kurt's teacup as it's moved to the kitchen table, his Dom's bare feet coming so close to his own that Blaine can feel air move around his toes when Kurt stops in front of him.

Kurt pauses a short distance away. He looks Blaine over from head to foot and makes a disappointed clicking noise with his tongue.

"Pet, this isn't _nearly_ as hard as I want it. Here, let me lend you a hand." Kurt starts to stroke, but he's not stroking Blaine's cock, he's stroking the air around it, circling his grip wide so that he can make the motion, but adjusting quickly so his hand doesn't actually touch Blaine's shaft.

But Blaine responds as if he is, ass clenching around nothing (since Kurt removed Blaine's plug, explaining that it's too much of a crutch), thrusting up into thin air in search of a sensation he knows he won't find, with an image of Kurt in his mind, standing over him, licking up and down his neck in teasing stripes as he jerks him off … Blaine has a vivid imagination, and that's the worst part. It's the part that requires the most discipline. Blaine's body reacts accordingly to every thought that pops into his head.

Kurt knows this, so he plays it up as much as he can.

He hums while he "strokes", smacks his lips, gets right up to Blaine's cock and moans and when he does, he puts his open mouth near the head of Blaine's erection, sticking his tongue out like he's going to take a lick. Blaine feels the heat of Kurt's mouth. Silently, he begs for it, even though he knows that if it comes, so will he, and he'll be punished. But for Kurt's mouth on his body, it might just be worth it.

But when Blaine's cock flushes red, when it bobs in search of Kurt's mouth, Kurt stands up and walks away. He leaves Blaine and goes back to his tea, sitting down with his Kindle and ignoring his pet while Blaine tries to keep his erection from withering with disappointment.

The ladybug timer goes off again. It's 9:45 now. But Kurt doesn't inspect his sub's progress this time because his phone starts to ring.

"Sofa," Kurt commands, standing from the kitchen table while he fiddles with his phone. "And grunt for me. _Loud_ so I can hear." Kurt checks his caller ID while Blaine switches positions, straightening on sore legs. He swerves on the first step, mildly dizzy since the blood's been rushing to his head. Kurt waits until Blaine toddles to the sofa before he answers the call. "Hey! Donovan! Long time no hear from. Thanks a ton for getting back to me …" Before the first words come out of Kurt's mouth, Blaine has straddled the arm of the sofa, and starts rutting his balls and the length of his cock against it. Cum or not, later on Blaine will have to clean the couch – _his_ responsibility since he violated it. Kurt watches Blaine with a sinister grin, making a motion with his hand that tells Blaine to rut harder, grunt louder. "Yes? Oh my God, can you hear it? I know. It's so embarrassing. Isn't it annoying?" Kurt stomps his foot – a sign for Blaine to grunt even louder. Balls chaffing against the fabric of the couch arm and grunting low in the back of his throat, he actually looks and sounds like some kind of animal in heat. "I'm watching a dog for the weekend and he's humping all of my furniture." Kurt laughs. It sounds cocky. "I _know_. I should get him _fixed_ … lock him up in a cage with a muzzle … a really _big_ muzzle …"

Blaine's whole body shudders. That thought of being locked in a cage with one of Kurt's more massive ball gags lodged in his mouth makes Blaine harder than all of the rutting and pretend licking in the world. He pauses a second, swallows hard, then continues before Kurt can stomp his foot at him again. As hard as he is, foreskin taut and balls pulled up, every rut becomes more difficult than the last. Blaine's scrotum and thighs burn, and not just from the friction. His rubbing against the fabric has been pulling hairs from his skin. But Blaine can't help himself working through the burn, rutting even harder. His wrists tied behind his back, his cock grinding against the sofa, and Kurt watching with a devious grin - Blaine _wants_ this. He wants to perform for his Master. He wants to become as hard as his Master wants, to whatever end that leads.

But, God, he wants to cum. It's been about a week of constant edging in all sorts of ways, much like this, for his Master's amusement – against a pole in an empty subway car; against the slick, soapy tile wall in the bathroom; against a piece of silky lingerie in Kurt's office while completely naked; or the one Blaine finds the most difficult to handle without completely losing his mind …

"Pillow, pet. Floor."

Blaine climbs, bowlegged, off the arm. He grabs a pillow from the sofa with his teeth and drags it to the floor. Then he gets down on his knees and starts rutting against it, balancing on his knees and thrusting hard with his ass. This position for edging is by far one of the most difficult because, once again, Blaine's imagination gets in the way. Blaine can't help envisioning Kurt underneath him and not a pillow; his thighs and balls grazing Kurt's soft skin and not velvet.

Kurt takes his call into the hallway outside the loft, talking where he can hear Blaine still but only in the background, with the door wide open where anyone who walks by might be able to hear Blaine as well. But for the most part, Kurt is effectively ignoring Blaine for this stretch, making this set-up possibly the most humiliating of all. Kurt out in the hallway, detached from what Blaine is doing, makes it seem like Blaine is doing this on his own, that it was _his_ idea to fuck a pillow on the floor even though there's a handsome man standing not thirty or so feet away. Or worse, that Blaine tried to seduce Kurt and Kurt rejected him, so Blaine resorted to this. Not that Blaine should care what the neighbors think.

But he still kind of cares what the neighbors think.

Knowing they might walk by, though, and hear his desperation, witness his deviance, becomes the fuel to a completely different fire, one that burns hot alongside his anxiety at being exposed to people he has to see every morning when he leaves for work, people he's talked politely to, exchanged pleasantries with, who've given him pots of casserole when Kurt's gone on his business trips and sang him Happy Birthday last year.

They might avoid him like the plague if they caught him like this.

Or they might not give a damn, might secretly lust after him, harbor some desire to be the pillow lodged beneath his body.

Either way, it's as exhilarating to consider as it is mortifying.

Blaine's legs quiver with the tension of keeping himself upright, his knees ache from being used as leverage, and sweat starts down his back from the exertion, but he gives it his all as if Kurt is standing right there, watching him. He feels a sublime pressure join the oversensitivity in his balls as an otherwise neglected patch of skin along the base of his cock, somehow untouched by the chaffing fabric of the sofa, brushes the whisper-soft velvet of the pillow. If he's not careful, that's what's going to do him in and make him cum, those delicate fibers caressing his skin like tiny licks. It's Kurt's mouth he's picturing, tongue warm from his morning tea, his mouth wetter than usual from having finished the whole cup. Blaine keeps his eyes open wide to curb that thought, staring at the floor beneath the pillow, doing everything in his power to concentrate on not cumming while he continually forces his body closer and closer to the brink of doing just that.

He's so deep in concentration that he almost doesn't hear Kurt come back in, slide the loft door shut and lock it, put his phone down on the kitchen table. But Blaine definitely doesn't miss when Kurt kneels beside him to get a better view of his progress, bending down low till he's eye to eye with Blaine's erection, staring as if he's waiting for something unexpected to happen. But aside from a few weak shudders and some stifled moans, nothing does. Blaine's obedient cock remains dormant. But Blaine fights so hard to keep from having an orgasm, or from whining over the massive case of rug burn infecting his inner thighs, that his erection has started to droop a little.

And Kurt notices.

He stands up and sighs.

"Back to the table, pet," he says, returning to the kitchen to reset the ladybug timer and fix himself another cup of tea. "Take it from the top."

Blaine stops rutting and takes a momentary breather. He doesn't show frustration or displeasure, but in his chest, he feels it build. He has to stomp that down and clear his head. He's a tool for his Master's amusement, and tools don't complain. They don't tire, either, so he'd better find his reserve strength and tolerance. He returns to the table, gets into position, and starts all over again.

But in the end, even if he doesn't get the chance to cum today, or tomorrow, or next week, it will be worth it, not just because watching him edge puts a smile on Kurt's face, but because Blaine craves the control. _Kurt's_ control. Kurt's carefully orchestrated, strictly monitored control.

And Blaine will take control over an orgasm any day.


	31. Happy Not Happy

**Kurt's Domination relieves Blaine's anxiety. It helps Blaine cope. It makes him feel stronger.**

 **Blaine's submission relieves Kurt's OCD. It helps Kurt cope. It makes him feel stronger.**

 **And they love one another. For them, that's all that matters.**

 ** _A/N: So this is a narrative, and I usually don't do narratives, but I think this one was kind of important since it addresses a lot of things that I am asked about D/s, and that I just read on the Internet. It shows that no, submissives don't enter or end up in D/s relationships solely because they are prior victims of abuse. Maybe some do, but it's not that way for everyone. And yes, people with anxiety, depression, etc. can be in healthy D/s relationships. In fact, it can be beneficial, since healthy D/s relationships cater to the individuals involved and include structure. And Blaine's depression and anxiety doesn't stem from parental abuse or neglect. He had a wonderful childhood, supportive parents, and yet still suffers from depression. I think that's an important thing for people to note._**

 **Dom Kurt, sub Blaine. Warning for mention of depression and anxiety.**

 **Part 52 of the Taking a Journey Together series.**

Most of Blaine's life, he's struggled with anxiety and depression.

He would say it started in high school because isn't that when depression usually starts? But in all honesty, it started before that, because even if twelve-year-old him, or even eight-year-old him, couldn't recognize or understand depression, he knew that something was wrong. Something he didn't know how to talk about. He had an amazing childhood all things considered. He had wonderful parents who loved and supported him entirely. No matter what he wanted to do, they were behind him 100%. When he said he wanted to join the circus and become an acrobat, they enrolled him in a circus day camp put on by the city. Blaine had wanted to be a trapeze artist so badly. Night after night, he pictured himself swinging high in the air, athletic and confident, and _handsome_ , performing flips and catches to the _ooo's_ and _ahh's_ of the audience below.

Not until he got there, however, did he discover how afraid of heights he was. Not just a mild trepidation, but an all-out, paralyzing fear.

So when that fell thru, his parents took a heartbroken Blaine, sat him down, and opened a dialogue. They talked about what worked, what didn't, what Blaine enjoyed about being a trapeze artist, what scared him the most, and in the end, they found a solution.

They enrolled him in gymnastics.

Because those were the types of people his parents were. They had come from poor families, and wanted better for their sons. Even if they didn't wholly agree with the paths their boys wanted to take, they didn't want to be obstacles standing in their way.

"Life his short," Blaine's mother always said. "The only choice you have is to live it."

So gymnastics it was, and Blaine got pretty good at it. Good enough to compete nationally, even win a few gold medals. But after a mysterious bout of vertigo knocked him off the horizontal bar, Blaine and his parents sat down again. After a long conversation about what Blaine wanted and what he could physically do, he traded gymnastics for dance, and Blaine found his niche. He had a natural knack, and best of all, dance was something Blaine could picture himself doing for the rest of his life.

And he was happy.

But he also wasn't, and that confused him, which made the matter worse.

Blaine's brother was of absolutely no help, and when his parents realized the actual amount of damage Cooper's constant teasing was doing to Blaine, they told Cooper in no uncertain terms that he needed to either back off or leave. Not because they favored Blaine over Cooper, but because Cooper should know better. He was older than Blaine by almost a decade. And if he didn't know better by now, he needed to learn that there were consequences for his actions.

Cooper packed up and moved out that summer.

And even though a part of Blaine missed having his big brother around, missed the relationship he always dreamed of them having, Blaine was happy.

But, again, he also wasn't.

When Blaine finally told his parents that there was something wrong, something that trapeze and gymnastics and dance couldn't fix, they put their heads together again and tried to come up with a solution. Remarkably, their first impulse wasn't to try and "fix" Blaine. They educated themselves, and found him a therapist that could help. They did their best to relieve his stress, pulled him out of public school and put him into a private school they thought would better serve his needs. They never blamed Blaine when he felt unhappy, never told him he was ungrateful, never made him feel guilty when times got tough. They stood by him every step of the way. Blaine's parents were the best parents a boy like him could have ever asked for. He never thought he would find anyone as accepting and compassionate as them.

And as graduation loomed near, that thought made him anxious, frightened of leaving home and moving to New York.

Blaine thrived within his support system, and for the years that he had it, he fooled himself into believing that the whole world worked the way it did at Dalton, and at home with his parents. But he knew it didn't. In New York City especially, everyone seemed so independent … so out for themselves. He was eager to be a New Yorker, eager to fit in there. He tried assimilate, but he couldn't. The school he started attending, NYADA, was a different universe compared to Dalton. Blaine was no longer one of the big fish. The pond had gotten larger overnight, and he was having a hard time swimming in it. He needed guidance. He found a new therapist, but this time therapy didn't work for him the same way. He had changed, and his anxieties had, too. He needed something different, he just didn't know what, or where to look for it. He tried to explain his needs to his therapist, and then to another one. They both told him that therapy would work for him. He just needed to give it time.

Blaine plugged along. He coupled his work load at NYADA with night school courses and got his teaching certificate, just in case his dreams of stardom fell through. He became overwhelmed by school and work and auditions, but he felt that being busy was the key to not feeling miserable. And where he could be proud that he was still taking steps towards pursuing his dream, every audition he went on required hours of preparation just to walk out the door, not to mention get to the theater. Even a good audition took him a day to recover from. A rejection – close to a week. And it was a week full of vitriolic self-criticism and doubt until he wondered why it was he even bothered. He wasn't good enough. He'd never be good enough. Maybe he was a big shot in Ohio, but that was Ohio. In New York, he was nothing. His audition for _Kinky Boots_ was going to be his last – his make it or break it audition. If he didn't get the part, he would give up his dream of Broadway altogether, withdraw from NYADA, and become a teacher full time.

As luck would have it, he nailed it. But he didn't only get his break-out role. He got the help he'd been longing for so badly.

Blaine met Kurt at that audition, and from their first conversations - a week filled with all night phone calls and daily texts – Blaine's jumbled world started to make sense again.

Not because Kurt came into his life with orders and conditions.

Not because Kurt said, "I own you. You'll do what I say."

Not because Kurt made rules and forced Blaine to his knees.

Not because Kurt spanked Blaine and locked him in a cage.

But because Kurt treated Blaine like a prince.

Kurt wooed Blaine from the start, made him feel special and important.

Kurt was honest with Blaine about everything – his feelings, his experiences, and most importantly, his intentions.

Kurt didn't demand anything from Blaine. Kurt took the time to earn it – Blaine's respect, his love, and eventually, his submission.

Kurt didn't make a single decision about their contract without Blaine's input, because, above all things, Blaine is Kurt's partner.

Kurt doesn't take away Blaine's freedom; he gives him structure.

Kurt doesn't isolate Blaine; he encourages him to follow his dreams, and helps him find the path that will take him there. He introduces him to new people, gets him involved in the world around him, but at Blaine's speed, not Kurt's.

He doesn't take away Blaine's strength, doesn't leave him weak and helpless; he builds Blaine up in creative ways, puts time and effort into him, and adds to Blaine's reserves where he can.

Kurt doesn't force Blaine to be his mindless puppet. Kurt respects Blaine's opinions. Blaine's feelings are valid. And Kurt has faith in him.

With Blaine in Kurt's life, Kurt has someone to care for, someone to nurture and to spoil. Giving Blaine structure helps Kurt maintain structure for himself. Blaine gives Kurt an outlet to exercise his need for control, helps him calm the chaos in his mind.

What Kurt and Blaine have together is built on communication, not intimidation.

Kurt's Domination relieves Blaine's anxiety. It helps Blaine cope. It makes him feel stronger.

Blaine's submission relieves Kurt's OCD. It helps Kurt cope. It makes him feel stronger.

And they love one another.

It's not a relationship that works for everyone, but it works for them.

And that's all that matters.


	32. Personal Trainer

**Kurt tries to help Blaine lose his "mythical love handles" by helping him work out, but with a slightly sadistic touch.**

 **A/N: Takes place earlier on in their relationship while Blaine was in "Kinky Boots", after the production's choreographer claimed that Blaine had love handles. Warning for prostate massage and oral sex.**

"Love handles," Kurt scoffs. He hugs Blaine's knees, keeping a close eye while his sub completes his second of three sets of sit-ups. At only fifty sit-ups per set, Blaine should barely be breaking a sweat. But he's drenched, panting when he should be breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth calmly, and shaking all over. "We'll show that pompous ass-hat where he can shove his love handles. Won't we, pet?"

"Y-yes, S-sir," Blaine agrees on his next sit-up.

"Yes, yes, now, shush and keep going," Kurt reprimands, grinning fiendishly at Blaine's progress. "Forty-five … forty-six … forty-seven. That's it, keep going. You're almost there."

Blaine shudders with each sit-up, doing his best not to pause for too long in between. But his Dom's instructions guarantee that he does. Sit-up, stay for one count, back down. That one count in between is becoming the death of him. It's not the sit-ups doing Blaine in; it's the wand pressing firmly against his prostate – his Aneros vibrating massager. Every time Blaine sits up, he's overwhelmed by a feeling of utter bliss, one that makes him want to stay upright and rock gently, absorb it all in. He can't give in to it, but he knows it's just a matter of time. He can't fight physiology forever. He can only do his best to put it off as long as possible. And that's part of what this training is about.

Kurt doesn't believe for a second that Blaine has love handles. Looking at his sub's gorgeously naked body as he leads Blaine through this routine, Kurt can _see_ Blaine doesn't. That's just an excuse. Not that Kurt _needs_ an excuse, but having one is part of the fun.

"Forty-nine … fifty. Now take a breather, and we'll move on to your next set."

Blaine lies on his back, knees bent since lying flat might end him altogether. But Kurt has no intention of letting Blaine relax. He hooks his finger into the looped base of the vibe and moves it around slowly. He unseats it, taking it from pleasant to frustrating, missing the mark, and then twists it, changing the direction and the intensity of the vibrations. Blaine can't close his eyes to focus on fending those sensations off or concentrate on becoming numb. Kurt won't let him. Kurt wants Blaine to remain in the moment, not slip away to his comfort zone where he can compartmentalize and deal. So Blaine takes a series of deep breaths in and out, attempting to calm his body's response to the vibrations which Kurt has, once again, positioned perfectly against his prostate.

Lying still isn't much better than sitting up if Kurt's going to manipulate the wand like that. Blaine wishes he could cross over that threshold between building up ecstasy and oversensitivity. Oversensitivity is painful – the constant, relentless throbbing; the twinges of pleasure doing its best to peak a second, third, fourth climax; the relentless pressure - but it's something he handles better. Blaine can isolate pain to one area and let it pulsate there. But ecstasy is overwhelming. It takes over everything when it hits, from his toes to his head. It strums every muscle, distorts his vision, stirs his brain into pudding.

"Okay," Kurt says long before Blaine can competently catch his breath. "Fifty more. Let's start with one. Hold it …" Kurt grabs Blaine's arm and keeps him upright, staring him in the eyes as the Aneros massager assaults Blaine's prostate ruthlessly. Blaine tries to remain stoic for as long as he can, but a second longer than usual goes by, and he whimpers. The corners of Kurt's mouth curl into his cheeks and he lets go. "Another. Two, and hold it …" Kurt grabs Blaine's arm again, delighting in the way Blaine's body trembles, his cock twitching, fighting to cum just as hard as Blaine fights to keep it from happening. Kurt lets go. "Three, and hold …" This time, Kurt leans forward and brushes his lips over Blaine's mouth. He spreads Blaine's legs and maneuvers between them, teasing Blaine's tight balls with his thigh.

" _Fuck_ …" Blaine murmurs under his breath, chasing his Dom's mouth when Kurt starts to back away. Kurt's fingers wrapping around Blaine's arm the way they would if he took Blaine's cock and held it, add fire to his stomach, make him want to go faster, push harder. Kurt staring into Blaine's eyes, commanding him not to cum without words while he taunts him, tests him, tries to draw it out of him, is almost as intimate as if they were actually making love to one another.

It's Kurt's control Blaine chases when he licks his lips in search of Kurt's mouth; when he sits up again and again, even though each one is steadily defeating him. But Blaine does what Kurt says, even if he thinks he'll eventually fail, because he'll take Kurt's control over an orgasm any day of the week.

And he'll accept Kurt's punishment, whatever Kurt chooses, if Blaine happens to have an orgasm without permission.

He's getting to that point, but he can't stop himself.

"Maybe later," Kurt whispers as Blaine sits-up, then sits-up again, and again, Kurt baiting him with the promise of kisses, trying to make Blaine forget himself.

"Thirty-eight … thirty-nine … forty …" Kurt counts off in his most commanding but seductive voice, grabbing Blaine's arm after each rise and holding him still to let the massager do its work. "If you reach fifty, I might let you have my mouth, pet."

"Oh, God," Blaine moans, going through his sit-ups mechanically, on autopilot, so he can reach the end and receive his reward. He's not thinking at this point, simply feeling, the drive toward the end a double-edged sword. He only has five sit-ups left to go, but he doesn't see how he can put off cumming much longer. His abs start twitching so violently he's sure he's getting a cramp, but that doesn't matter. He'd tear something loose for the opportunity to have Kurt's mouth on him.

"Forty-seven …" Kurt counts, holding Blaine longer in between each sit-up. "Forty-eight … forty-nine …" It's almost precisely timed when it happens. Kurt counts off fifty and Blaine lies down, but before his head reaches the floor, he's cumming, so rock hard and so turned on that it hits him beneath the chin. His body shudders, blood rushing through his ears, making them ring.

"Well, you did it, pet," Kurt says, spreading Blaine's legs open wide and climbing in between. "And a promise is a promise."

Before Blaine can remember what that promise was, he feels the hot, wet enclosure of Kurt's mouth clamp around his still aching cock and forcefully suck.

The headache-inducing pain is excruciating and immediate. His cock still hard, but so sensitive from his powerful orgasm, that Kurt's glorious mouth makes Blaine want to shove away and scream. Another hard suck and Blaine slams his hands to his sides. He growls through his teeth, clenching his entire body to keep from squirming. But it's a reflex response, his body cringing away from Kurt's mouth before he can think to stop.

"Now, now, now, settle down, pet," Kurt purrs. His hands crawl up Blaine's chest, dry fingertips searching out his equally sensitive nipples and running lightly over the hard nubs. "We don't want you screaming and ruining your pretty voice, do we?"

"No … Sir," Blaine answers in a grunt as Kurt latches over his tormented cock and sucks again. Kurt goes all out for this one, agonizing blow, lapping at the sides of Blaine's shaft inside his mouth, humming as he travels from head to base, tonguing Blaine's slit with barely there licks that on any other day would be a pathway to rapture, but for now feel like the sharp edge of ice cold glass shaving along his skin.

"Mmm, good," Kurt murmurs. "Now, we'll take out the Aneros wand and flip over." Kurt lifts up and backs away with a few parting licks to see Blaine's ab muscles jump. Kurt pulls the wand out of Blaine's ass, and Blaine obediently rolls to his stomach, arms and legs shaking as he struggles to position himself on his hands and knees. Kurt picks up a thick, knobbed dildo from the blanket beside them and covers it with a condom. He coats the thing with lube, then uses his lube covered fingers to prime Blaine's hole. The Aneros massager is a decent size, but this dildo could do some damage if Blaine's not properly prepared. "Alright, pet." Kurt sizes up Blaine's hole and works the dildo in. "It's time for push-ups."


	33. Request Denied

**After Blaine suffers through sit-ups with the help of the Aneros massager, Kurt makes him do push-ups which are far, far worse. (Immediately follows 'Personal Trainer'. Warning for vibrating butt plug, cock torture, cock pumping, and orgasm denial.)**

"Thirty-three … thirty-four … thirty-five … thirty-six …"

"Can I cum!? Can I cum!? Can I cum!?" Blaine begs. He continues his push-ups, performing for Kurt like an automaton even though his arms and legs feel just about ready to give out.

The sit-ups had been strenuous, that Aneros massager rubbing against Blaine's prostate with the rocking of his body. Along with Kurt's relentless teasing, Blaine's orgasm had been intense. But Kurt takes the push-ups to the next level. He'd leapt on Blaine's oversensitive cock before it could go flaccid and pumped it to capacity. Then he left it swollen inside its acrylic cylinder. The tip end of the cylinder Kurt attached to a sling, which he looped around Blaine's neck to keep his cock from bouncing off the ground. Kurt wants to keep the pressure on; he doesn't want to risk dislodging the thing or breaking it. It also encourages Blaine to keep his shoulders squared and his head up, lest the cylinder slag and knock against the floor.

The resulting vibrations would be agonizing to a cock that's already on its way to turning purple.

After Kurt had opened Blaine up wide with the knobbed dildo, he replaced it with an equally large, cone-shaped plug called the Robo Rimmer. The thing vibrates, rotates, and throbs. (Kurt considers himself lucky to have gotten his hands on one. They're constantly selling out.) The cone top assaults Blaine's prostate while the knobbed neck violates his rim. It has a wireless remote control and twelve speed settings. Kurt sits back and simply pushes buttons at random without looking at the settings. At one point, he plays _In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida_ by Iron Butterfly using the revving noise the plug makes at different speeds.

That's part of what's prompted Blaine's teeth clenching, neck straining pleas for mercy.

Kurt had considered giving Blaine his own cock to fuck, but Blaine has yet to earn that privilege. After all, he's only on his second set of fifty. He's got three more to go and he's already looking worse for wear.

Poor, poor Blaine. Kurt's been _way_ too easy on him.

Besides, sitting back and watching this plug at work is too much fun.

"No, no, no." Kurt tuts, switching the plug from low to high for a few seconds to give Blaine a taste of what true torture at the hands of this thing would actually feel like. "Ask properly."

"Please, Sir …" Blaine shudders, the cylinder on his cock glancing off the floor when he bows his neck and lowers himself down too far "… c-can I cum?"

"Try again, pet." Kurt slaps Blaine's ass hard, then raises the vibrations on the plug another notch.

"Please, Sir!" Blaine wails, close to tears. "Can this filthy pet cum for you? _Pleeeeeease_!?"

"That's better," Kurt purrs, slowing the vibrations to a relaxing, pulsating throb. He tenderly fondles Blaine's balls, pulled tight; runs the flat of his palm over Blaine's hot and abused right cheek. He tugs the plug out an inch, then pushes it in, fucking Blaine gently for a few, soothing thrusts. Blaine trembles, his shoulders relax. He takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes. He arches his back when Kurt pushes in and twists, moaning with pleasure.

Blaine gets a little too comfortable, and Kurt's not having it.

He slaps Blaine's cheek sharply. "No you may not. Next set. Fifty more. And count them this time. My mouth's getting dry."

Kurt turns the plug up to full.

Blaine's high-pitched keen sounds positively glorious to Kurt's ears.

"O-one … t-two … th-three …"

Kurt stands and walks into the kitchen with the remote. He's going to grab a bottle of water for his parched mouth. Then he'll pull up a chair and kick it with his feet on Blaine's back so he can enjoy this better.


	34. Centerpiece

**For their two year anniversary, Kurt's sub requests an intimate candlelit dinner at home.**

 **So that's what Kurt makes him, along with a special, one-of-a-kind centerpiece.**

 ** _Dedicated to lilyvandersteen as we bond over being foodies xD Warning for bondage, humiliation, and objectification.  
_**

 ** _Part 55 of Taking a Journey Together._**

"So … two years, huh?"

"Yup." Kurt smiles, pulling a tray of poached pears out of the broiler. "Two whole, wonderful years off the market and madly, deeply in love."

"Oh, Kurt! I envy you _so_ much!" Chandler hugs his leg as he gazes out the window of his apartment, phone cradled between his cheek and his shoulder. The moon overhead shines bright on New York City – brighter, it seems, over Kurt's loft, which leaves Chandler's abode in the shadows. "Two years ago, I thought it was going to be you and me settling into life as old, moldy bachelors in an apartment filled with cats."

"Old and moldy?" Kurt chuckles. "Chandler! We're barely leaving our twenties!"

"Yeah, well, some of us are aging better than the rest of us." Chandler checks his reflection in the tinted glass. With his index finger, he lifts what he sees as sagging skin, tugs gently beneath his eyes to smooth fine lines.

"Chandler" – Kurt puts the pears down on the stovetop and begins transferring them to plates – "you _barely_ look older than you did when you graduated high school."

"And that's one of the reasons why I love you so much. You're either blind, or you've started drinking in the afternoons. Either way, you don't see what I see when I look in the mirror. I have the transit map for the five buroughs branching out all over my face."

Kurt shakes his head. He would continue to argue that his friend looks as handsome and youthful as ever, but it won't get him anywhere. Chandler's in a mood, and no amount of flattery is going to lighten him up.

Besides, Kurt doesn't have the time.

He's afraid that his centerpiece may have started to droop while he's been gabbing and getting dinner ready. He'll treat Chandler to wheatgrass shots and Botox during lunch sometime next week.

" _So_ , how are you guys spending the evening?" Chandler asks, bouncing back fairly quickly.

"With a nice, quiet, candlelit dinner."

"Ooo! That sounds so romantic."

"Doesn't it though?" Kurt brags with a satisfied smirk. "It was all Blaine's idea." The oven timer dings, and Kurt hurries over on tiptoes to lower the temperature. "I've got to go, love. My soufflé should be ready soon."

"Alright." Chandler sighs, gloomy at being brushed off when he has no one of his own to romance and get dirty with, because it's generally accepted as common knowledge at _Vogue_ that when Kurt and Blaine aren't being the 'sappy duo', they're having kinky sex all over their loft. "Remember to bring leftovers to the office."

"Always do." Kurt hangs up his phone and turns off the ringer. He doesn't want to chance any more interruptions.

Not on this special night.

Kurt takes his soufflé out of the oven and puts it beside the other side dishes he's prepared. Then he puts the final touches on the rest of the meal – roasted cod, creamed spinach, tarragon mushrooms, potatoes with olives and lemons, poached pears, all assembled on a plate with a modest helping of the chocolate soufflé in its own dish, topped with a lightly sweetened whipped cream.

Pleased with his plating, Kurt switches on music – a special Barry White/Marvin Gaye/Joni Mitchell playlist he put together just for the occasion. He does a last minute rearrange of the flowers in vases scattered around the room. At the table, he lights a row of taper candles one by one, saving the longest - spiraled, gold, and protruding from Blaine's ass - for last. Before cooking began, Kurt trussed his sub up on the table naked, wrists tied to ankles to force his head and shoulders down and keep his ass in the air. Kurt sets his own carefully plated meal in front of the chair beside Blaine's left flank. Blaine's meal he scrapes into his pet's silver doggy dish, and places with a thunk beneath his sub's chin.

Then Kurt grabs Blaine's hair and shoves his face into the dish.

"This _is_ what you meant when you said you wanted an intimate candlelit dinner at home, isn't it, pet?"


	35. Kurt's Collar

**When Blaine accidentally trips over something he shouldn't have, he opens a Pandora's box, releasing one of Kurt's biggest secrets to date.**

 _ **A/N: Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble 2017 prompt "genuine", and dedicated to itallstartedwithharry.**_

Blaine comes across it completely by accident.

He wasn't snooping in his Master's things. He wasn't even looking for anything in the bedroom. A series of unfortunate accidents led him to stumble upon it.

Stumble upon it _literally_.

He was struggling with his bowtie, trying to get the sides even. He didn't know why he was having such a problem with it today, but no matter how many times he adjusted it, it looked uneven. He couldn't switch it out for a different one because his Master chose _this_ one specifically for the luncheon they were going to.

A luncheon they were running late for because Blaine couldn't tie his stupid bowtie!

He'd decided he'd give it one more try before he crawled into the other room and asked his Master for help. He untied it completely, checked the ends to make sure they were even, took a deep breath in and out, then re-tied it. When he pulled the loops taut, he thought he had finally gotten it. He took a step back to get a better look at it - frazzled, frustrated, and determined not to waste any more of his Master's time. His foot landed on the edge of Kurt's slipper (which had, during the course of Blaine's pacing, been kicked away from the bed), and rolled his ankle. As he lurched sideways, fighting to regain his balance, he tipped too far and landed on a small footlocker that Kurt kept beside his dresser. It toppled over before Blaine could catch it, opened, and spilled its contents on the floor.

Blaine is under strict orders not to touch _anything_ in that footlocker, which is why Kurt doesn't lock it.

No touching is a rule, and rules are expected to be obeyed.

Blaine, being the obedient pet that he is, was on his way to the living room, crawling on his hands and knees, to tell Kurt what he'd done.

That's when he saw it, lying closest to the open mouth of the footlocker, which meant it had been kept on the very bottom - not where Blaine would never find it, because he wasn't allowed in there.

But so Kurt wouldn't see it on accident, not unless he was specifically searching for it.

Blaine picks it up. He can't help himself. It pulls him to it.

The reason?

Because it _scares_ him.

It's a collar – a beautiful, well cared for, and _expensive_ looking collar. It's not quite as lavish as his own silver eternity collar dotted along the outer perimeter with diamonds, but he can tell someone spent some significant money on it. It's made of rich leather, smooth to the touch, with a sterling silver buckle, and what looks like a sprinkling of sapphires embedded in its flesh. Affixed dead center are initials – _HH_ in white rhinestones.

Blaine gulps.

It's not just any collar.

It's a collar of _ownership_.

Blaine's seen a bunch of different collars during his time as Kurt's submissive, each with a different connotation from fashion, to play, to life partners. The latter are always the most elaborate, the most precious.

And this one is the genuine article.

But it's not a symbol of _Kurt's_ ownership. His initials are _KH_ , like the ones engraved on the collar around Blaine's neck.

The one beginning to strangle him the longer he stares at the collar in his hands.

"Pet!? What happened? What was that bang? Are you al-?"

Blaine has no time to react – clean up the mess, put the collar away, pretend like he never found it, never saw it. Though he wouldn't be able to even if he did. He'd never lie to Kurt. Trying to keep this a secret would eventually tear him to pieces.

Kurt races in mere seconds after Blaine hears his voice. He stops at the sight of Blaine kneeling on the floor beside his mess, the collar resting in his open palms. Blaine can't deny what he's done, can't deny that he touched it without his Master's permission regardless of the circumstances. Even if he didn't intend on doing anything wrong, he has anyway by not going immediately to his Master when the accident occurred.

Right now, all Blaine can do is wait for punishment to come.

"What happened here, pet?" Kurt asks, followed by a deep sigh as if he can't do this now, can't handle this now, whatever it is. But he doesn't sound angry – not even the tiniest bit. Annoyed, maybe, but not angry.

"I'm so sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to …" Blaine starts, but bites his bottom lip to stop himself when he sees his Master's eyes turn cold. Blaine's rambling apology isn't protocol. Explanations, clear and plain. Simple answers to simple questions. No excuses. Those are the rules. And Blaine doesn't want to break any more of Kurt's rules. "I tripped, Sir. I tried to catch myself, but I couldn't. I fell over your footlocker, and …"

"Are you alright, pet?" Kurt asks, finally entering the room. "No twisted ankles? No broken bones?"

"I-I don't think so, Sir. Not that I can feel."

"That's good." Kurt reaches down and takes the collar from his pet's hands. He glances at it, hanging it from his index finger in front of Blaine's nose. "I suppose you're curious about this, aren't you, pet?"

"I-" _Simple answers to simple questions_ , Blaine reminds himself. But he doesn't have a simple answer, because it isn't a simple question.

And Kurt, knowing his sub as well as he does, understands that. Kurt demands that Blaine be open with him about his issues, his problems, his past. Kurt, on the other hand, has not been as forthcoming. Of course, as Master, he has the option not to be, as long as he doesn't break the vows he's made to Blaine - to remain loyal, monogamous, fair, and honest. So an explanation for this has been a long time coming. And seeing as it's out in the open, now seems as good a time as any, no matter how much he'd rather forget.

But he chose to keep it, so it's his own damn fault.

"It's a collar," he explains, "that represents an intense commitment. But, you're a brilliant boy, so I know you knew that already."

Blaine wants to preen beneath that praise, but he can't. He feels something coming.

Something he won't like.

"And … it's mine."

Blaine swallows hard. He can't imagine anyone owning his Master. But, apparently, someone has.

The thought doesn't just break his heart. He suddenly and irrationally feels _betrayed_.

"I don't wear it, of course." Kurt turns it over nonchalantly in his hands. "It's more symbolic than anything else."

Blaine lowers his gaze from his empty hands to the floor beneath his knees. Even if that weren't required in this position, he's not sure how he'd look at Kurt with this new information. He needs time to process first. "I-I don't understand, Sir."

"I don't expect you to, pet. That's why I kept it hidden." Kurt turns the footlocker over and sets it back in place. Then he snaps his fingers and points. Blaine sees the gesture over his eyelashes and, without a word, begins picking up the rest of the spilt items. Kurt takes a seat on the edge of the bed and watches him clean up, holding the collar in his hands.

"After my stepbrother died, my father's stroke, and then his cancer diagnosis, I wasn't in a good place." He sees Blaine hesitate in his work, but for only a second as he contemplates where Kurt might be going with his story. What could the outcome be? Kurt is a masochist, but not a submissive. But is it possible that he sought the assistance of another Dominant to help him fight his demons?

Could that Dom have claimed him?

Is that an arrangement that Kurt would be willing to enter into to get what he needed?

But that collar – that collar represents more than an arrangement.

The collar in Kurt's hands looks almost like a wedding ring.

"I became self-destructive. I wasn't sleeping well, I wasn't eating the way I should. I'd stopped caring about myself. I still cared about others. I knew I had to stick around for my father and my stepmother, but it wasn't really a priority. I was teetering on the edge of a deep precipice, and I wasn't at all concerned about pulling myself back. My father noticed, from hundreds of miles away, through phone conversations and Skype calls, and he reminded me that without me in the world, he would lose one more reason that he had to take care of himself – to fight the cancer, to monitor his heart. I knew I had to try harder. I don't know if you've noticed this, but I can get a little bit absentminded and emotional when I'm bogged down by work or stress …

Kurt pauses for a response. Blaine smartly doesn't give one. Kurt smirks. He loves that Blaine is so respectful, so obedient … but it would have been nice to have a reason to give Blaine a spanking.

It would have broken the tension.

"I bought this to remind myself that I belong to someone. That way, when I was driving down the highway between Lima and New York, and I got a sudden urge to drive off the side of the road, I would … you know … _not_."

Blaine sighs – sad, heavy, full of questions he doesn't know if he should ask. So when Kurt says: "What is it, pet?" Blaine picks the easiest one. The obvious one.

The most pressing one.

"What does _HH_ stand for, Sir? Who … who is that?"

"It stands for Hudson-Hummel. That's what our family became after my father married my stepmother. Those were the people I needed to think of whenever I wanted to hurt myself. I mean _really_ hurt myself."

Blaine's soft gasp is innocent, endearing. "Would you really … _kill_ yourself, Sir?"

"The thought did cross my mind. I won't deny it." Kurt places the collar on his pillow and pats his knee. Blaine shuffles over and rests his head against it. With gentle fingers, Kurt combs through Blaine's lightly gelled hair, twirling the curls one by one around his fingertips. "But when it did, I'd go to bed, and the next day, the sun would rise, and I would realize there was so much left to live for. That my part to play in this big story we call _life_ wasn't over yet."

"I'm glad you did, Sir," Blaine says. "Realize that there was so much left to live for, I mean. I don't want to think about a world without you."

Kurt smiles at his pet. Blaine hasn't the faintest idea how far within his miasma of depression Kurt was when they met – how huge a part Blaine plays in reminding him every day that there's so much for him to live for.

"So am I."


	36. Necessary

**After a particularly horrible day at work, Blaine comes home to an empty loft, forcing him to manage his own self-care.**

 ** _Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompts "bucket" and "health", and dedicated to itallstartedwithharry. This takes place earlier in their relationship, when Blaine is still working as a substitute teacher, and highlights a few of the concerns that people ask me about having a dedicated, 24/7 D/s relationship. Warning for angst, anxiety, and kneeling on buckets._**

Kurt isn't home when Blaine gets there, the loft cold and dark and quiet without him. And empty – too, too empty. But Blaine knew he wouldn't be. Kurt is working late. He told Blaine that this morning. And yesterday. And he texted Blaine to remind him a few hours ago, but still. The first thought in Blaine's head when he opens the door is Kurt isn't home.

Why isn't Kurt home?

Blaine needs Kurt to be home.

Because Blaine _needs_ his Master. He needs his Kurt.

Today sucked. It just … it just sucked. And the worst part was that it wasn't simply one thing that sucked. It was a collection of suck, some of which he couldn't put into words. First, there was the fact that his first train was late, which he'd anticipated it would be since it had been the entire month, so he made it a point to leave the loft early - not to catch the train before his train, but the train before _that_. But that train broke down, so it never arrived, and, predictably, the train after that – his _usual_ train – was late. He got to school only about five minutes tardy since he bypassed buying a morning coffee at the corner Starbucks and booked it the entire three-and-a-half blocks, but he didn't receive the same commiserating comments that the other teachers give one another when they bitch about the perils of the public transportation system. No. Blaine got a lot of sarcastic side glances and rolled eyes, scoffs and mumbled remarks about how, if he had cared, he could have made it a point to leave earlier in order to get there on time.

But the worst remarks are the ones that they save for when Blaine steps outside the room and they don't think he can hear.

The ones ridiculing his Master.

 _"Isn't he dating some hoity-toity exec over at Vogue?"_

 _"Yeah! You'd think the guy would let Blaine use the company car or whatever they have so the poor jerk wouldn't be late all the time."_

 _"Must not be that great a relationship."_

 _"Yup. I betcha Blaine's not his only boyfriend. Ha! Probably not even his favorite if he's still lettin' him work as a substitute teacher in a public school!"_

Blaine hated those comments the most because, not only are they not true, but because, now that he'd heard them, he'd have to tell his Master about them, which would open up a whole discussion about how Kurt didn't want Blaine to continue working as a teacher to begin with. And Blaine hated those discussions because Blaine won them, yes, but just barely, and even though he could get Kurt to see his side, he always felt like he was disappointing his Master by not simply giving in to his wants. It felt like a Catch-22 – Kurt respected Blaine's feelings with regards to having this job, and was proud that his sub was determined to pay his own way and contribute to their household as much as he could, but regardless, Blaine's decisions still weren't the _right_ decisions in Kurt's eyes, which disappointed him.

Those were the feelings that Blaine had a hard time putting into words because, in his head, they contradicted Kurt's feelings. It wasn't as if Kurt's feelings, or Kurt's opinions, were more important than Blaine's in their relationship. It's because Blaine knows that, to a large degree, his Master is right. Blaine doesn't need this job. There are parts of it he enjoys, but those parts don't outweigh the things that he should prioritize, like his own health, his psyche, and his future as a Broadway star. Some days, Blaine's reasons for keeping his job seem so concrete, and some days they make no sense at all. Sometimes he feels stubborn for arguing his own way so vehemently. Being stubborn makes him a brat. And a brat isn't what his Master wants, not all the time.

It's definitely not what his Master deserves – not for all the wonderful ways Kurt supports him, looks after him, takes care of him, guides him. Blaine should just be a good submissive and give in, agree that what his Master wants is best. But will Blaine lose himself if he gives in that way? Again, Blaine has reasons. They're good, valid reasons. He has the right to want this job whether it's healthy for him or not … doesn't he? He has an identity outside of being Kurt's sub. He's allowed to have that, he's allowed to _want_ that … isn't he? If not, what happens if he becomes a Broadway star? Are there things Kurt will expect him to give up just because he doesn't want Blaine to do them? Being on Broadway is Blaine's dream! Should he be expected to temper aspects of that dream because Kurt may not approve? Though Kurt hasn't said he disapproves of anything having to do with Blaine's dream. He supports him being on Broadway wholeheartedly.

Then does that mean that Blaine's dream is okay only because Kurt approves?

By this time, those thoughts, those questions, and the remarks of his co-workers to boot, had driven him into the bathroom, where, after a minute of hyperventilating, he lost his breakfast.

That's not where his bad day ended.

Not by a long shot.

There was the soup he spilled down the front of his shirt at lunch time, and the lecture he received for not having a replacement, even though he _did_ have one in his locker. The vice principal stopped him on his way to getting it, and then wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise when he tried to explain.

He misplaced his grade book for the fifteenth time since the semester began.

He "broke" an overhead projector – one that was being held together by duct tape and universally agreed was twenty-three years past its warranty's expiration date, but since he was the one who flipped the switch when it officially blinked its last, he was the one whom everyone blamed, lamenting over the loss as if it were a beloved old grandparent, or the only overhead projector in existence.

He ended up with another urge to puke sometime after his second to last class of the day. The only men's room he could find on his floor was out of order, but in desperation, he used it anyway, vomiting into a toilet already clogged with two metric tons of wet toilet paper and an equal amount of urine and feces. When he'd emptied his stomach, he turned around to find a very disgruntled janitor standing behind him, plunger in hand, looking about as done as Blaine felt.

The scowl on the man's unfriendly face and the shake of his head told Blaine all he needed to know about how tomorrow was going to be for him once everyone in the school found out.

So, by the time he left work on his way for the loft, the fact that a bus hit a puddle, spraying him with filthy, oily water, no longer fazed him. That a homeless man tripped him out of anger when Blaine, too lost in his thoughts, hadn't seen him or offered him money; an aggressive, older woman shoved him to the ground on her way to the subway; or that a group of teens jeered at him, making fun of his wet clothes, didn't give him any pause.

He just added it to the pile.

It wasn't that he was beyond caring. He couldn't process it all. It overloaded his circuits, snuck between the wires and chewed its way into his brain. There it collected, creating a noise so loud, he could no longer focus. He needed to clean it out, but he couldn't do that on his own. He needed to have it driven away, beaten out of him.

He needed Kurt.

And Kurt isn't home.

So he does the next best thing, a thing he doesn't need to think of because there's a chart on the wall telling him what's within his power to do according to Kurt's rules of "self-engagement".

He chooses a coping mechanism and a corner, and he waits.

* * *

"Hello, Blaine! I'm ho-me!" Kurt sings cheerfully as he opens the door. He can't help himself - the singing or the huge smile on his face. He had a good day. A phenomenal day! And the best part? He gets to come home to his submissive – a gorgeous, loving, obedient boy he'll have the pleasure of defiling a dozen different ways before bedtime.

Considering the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body, which has built from excited simmer to full-blown frenzy during the subway ride home, he can't _wait_ to get started.

Except, something's wrong. Nothing in the loft is as it should be.

Blaine isn't kneeling at the front door, waiting for him as commanded.

The lights are off. It's quiet as a tomb.

And the place is as cold as an ice box.

"Pet?" Kurt calls, slightly annoyed to have his sub's disobedience squash the fun he's been looking forward to all day. But Kurt isn't so shortsighted that he doesn't realize this is out of the ordinary for Blaine. Blaine wouldn't shirk Kurt's direct orders unless something was wrong.

Horribly wrong.

"Pet? Where are you, pet? Don't make me come find you …" Kurt switches on the light and scans the loft. There are no dishes in the sink, which is one of Blaine's responsibilities, but there is also no dinner on the table. _Is there a chance that Blaine isn't home from work yet?_ Kurt considers as he puts down his bag and locks the front door. _But, if that's the case, why didn't Blaine text, telling me he'd be late? Did his phone battery die? Is he stuck on the subway? Did he get jumped on the walk home? Did he get mugged … or worse? Is he lying in an alley, bleeding!?_

Halfway into the loft, Kurt almost abandons his search and heads back out the front door when he catches a glimpse of something in a far corner, so brightly colored, bulky, and awkward, it screams for attention. Kurt stands back and stares at it, arms crossed and head tilted, confused because it doesn't make sense. It's elevated a few feet off the floor when it shouldn't be; slouched and unmoving, as if it's melting into the wall. It doesn't look real and yet, there it is – the crumpled figure of a human being, painfully disturbing, but also insanely beautiful, like an existential work of art.

It's Blaine.

He actually _is_ kneeling, as per Kurt's orders, just not where Kurt wanted him – in front of the door with his mouth open, waiting to service his Master. He's put himself in the "naughty corner", where Kurt sends him on time-out. And he's not just kneeling. He's kneeling on _buckets_ – two overturned, neon orange as-all-get-out five gallon buckets that Kurt had bought from The Home Depot, for those oh-so-fun autumn days when New York gets inundated by rain and the roof of his rustic little loft leaks like a sieve. Blaine is perched on them – knees dead center, the rest of his legs hanging over the edge - in a way that digs the lip of the buckets into his shins, and the circular ring in the middle into his knees. Kurt has kneeled on them once by accident, using them as a makeshift stool during the summer while he was wearing shorts.

He regretted his decision immediately.

Just the sight of Blaine in this position makes Kurt's legs sore.

"Good evening, pet," Kurt says, putting away the rest of his things, talking calmly as if finding his sub like this were an everyday occurrence.

"Good evening, Sir," Blaine says, his voice a lead blanket that wraps heavily around Kurt's heart when he hears it. "I apologize that I have not gotten to my evening chores yet, Sir. I did not anticipate being here so long. I acknowledge that I did so willfully, and accept any punishment you deem appropriate."

Kurt startles at Blaine's response – not in the thoroughness of his words, or his quick admission of guilt … but his complete and utter defeat.

Kurt gets the impression that whatever punishment he can dish out would not make the dent that whatever happened today already has.

"Why are you in the corner, pet?" Kurt asks. " _I_ didn't send you there."

"I know, Sir. And I'm sorry, but …" Blaine sighs "… it's necessary, Sir."

Kurt waits for more, but Blaine says nothing. Kurt wishes Blaine would be a little more detailed in his explanation. He could _tell_ Blaine to explain, but that might be better left for later, after Kurt gets his hands on him, ties him down, paddles him, and helps him heal. "I see. Alright. I'll give you few more minutes, then you'll come to me for a spanking, and we can talk."

"Alright, Sir," Blaine says, relaxing, his sick heart beating correctly for the first time all day. "Thank you, Sir."


	37. Fun-ishment

**After Kurt finds out that Blaine has been masturbating without permission, he decides to punish his pet with Blaine's favorite toy.**

 ** _Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "inch", and dedicated to itallstartedwithharry :) This takes place early in their relationship, when all of Kurt's rules have yet to be cemented xD Warning for bondage, ball torture, e-stim, and punishment._**

Kurt strolls around the living room, a radiant smile on his face, flicking randomly the switches of a slim, black remote, his hands moving through the air as if conducting the music around him – the whimpers and moans of his beloved sub, naked except for a mesh jock, tied with arms outstretched to a dormant radiator, gagged with a black nylon stocking, the only part of his body free to roam his legs, kicking in a futile dance as the vibrator locked in his ass whirs indiscriminately under the command of Kurt's sadistic whims.

Kurt isn't watching Blaine, operating the device solely by sound, matching the pressing of the buttons to the symphonic music playing over a single wireless earbud in his left ear – Ravel's _Bolero_.

" _Dahhh, duh-dah-de-dah-dah dah-de-duh dah-de-dahhh,"_ he sings, waltzing and twirling with each high-pitched whine from Blaine's throat. He cranks the vibrator to high for a few, torturous seconds, and chuckles at the guttural scream it produces.

"I've noticed you've become _very_ attached to this new vibrator of yours – pun intended," Kurt jokes, "as much as I've become attached to the noises you make because of it."

He flicks it one more time to high, this time peeking over the sofa to the spot where Blaine squirms on the wood floor, close to tears. It probably doesn't help that Kurt has attached a low voltage shock collar to his testicles - the smallest one he could find, made to fit Chihuahuas - which sparks off every time Blaine shifts position, knocking the locking arm of the vibrator, pressed into his perineum, against it. Blaine has gone completely rigid – head thrown back, digging into the metal boning of the radiator; eyes squeezed shut; chin thrust up; arms straining against his cuffs until his biceps bulge; butt planted into the wood with his knees bent and his heels digging in.

His scream rises in pitch, steadily climbing from rich tenor to thin, reedy countertenor.

Kurt, who lives in that range vocally, is impressed.

He dials the vibrator down to zero, watching Blaine immediately go limp. Kurt chuckles again, pleased. With this set-up, Blaine is his puppet, the speed of his reaction to the power-punch of vibrator and shock collar making Kurt immensely hard. Kurt walks by his exhausted sub - his poor boy's chest heaving with each labored breath, his wrists tugging weakly at his cuffs, trying to pull himself up - contemplating how he can get relief for his own aching hard-on.

"I bet you thought that when I asked you which toy you wanted to play with today, I'd actually let _you_ control it." Kurt tsks. "My dear pet. You should know better by now … the same way you should know that toys are off limits when I'm not home. Hmph … masturbating without permission. Where do you think you are, pet?"

Blaine nods, a single bob of his head disturbing sweaty curls, mumbling something over the nylon stretching his mouth that sounds like an apology.

"You're sorry?" Kurt mocks, slowly bringing the vibrator from zero to one, the tiny increase in vibration causing the muscles in Blaine's arms to twitch. "That's so _sweet_ of you." One goes to two, and the big toe of his right foot begins to tap. "But I'm afraid you're nowhere near sorry _yet_."

Blaine whimpers, on the brink of sobbing as he submits to the inevitable – two sliding to three, which makes his lower lip wobble; three to four, which tightens the muscles of his neck.

Four to five, and the moaning begins.

"That's right," Kurt coos, switching the settings from six to seven as Blaine's hips stutter, searching for a happy medium between the hum of the vibrator up his ass and the static crackle of the shock collar - which Blaine doesn't necessarily _hate_. "That doesn't feel too bad now, does it? I bet it's actually kind of nice, huh?"

Blaine gulps hard. He knows from the syrupy sound in Kurt's voice he might be walking into a trap, but, for the moment, he doesn't care. This feels too good – the combination of the vibrator massaging him deep inside and the crystalline spark of the collar spitting across his skin, tantalizing nerves, connecting his balls to his stomach to his nipples to his fingertips, leaving them with a slight numbing sensation. His eyes roll back and his head follows. Step by step the vibrations build in intensity. Blaine rubs is ass on the floor, like the dog he is, moving the vibrator inch by inch away from the shock collar and closer to where he wants it, where it will feel the most sublime.

Blaine's brain short circuits, his hips gyrating, rolling the base of the vibrator along a convenient rut in the floor. He feels the familiar wash of heat from his cheeks to his toes, followed by a secondary wave of cool when that heat bleeds entirely into his stomach, fanning out to his cock and his balls. He feels like his spirit has left his body, hovering on a plane of pure pleasure. He hears Kurt hum again, the climax of the music he's been listening to mirroring Blaine's own blissful completion. Pulse and snap and buzz and crackle meet deep within his groin and he cums hard. He begins to drool, babbling a string of nonsense behind his gag so ridiculous, it makes Kurt laugh out loud.

"Uh-oh, pet. You're in trouble now," Kurt says, and that's when Blaine remembers …

… he wasn't allowed to cum.

Kurt told him that as he tied him up. He repeated it several times.

He was _adamant_ about it.

He said there would be consequences if Blaine did.

That was over an hour ago. But the start and stop of the torment, the constant pulse and hum of the vibrator, it's fluctuating frequency with no real rhyme or pattern, had erased it from his memory.

Blaine's eyes snap open. Ecstasy ebbs away, replaced by a low thrumming panic, his heart pounding in his chest till his sides cramp and his ribs feel sore.

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt approaches his quivering sub staring plaintively up at him. He lifts his socked toe and presses it against the swiftly softening lump in the front of Blaine's jock. When he pulls his toe away, his sock is drenched in Blaine's cum. He shakes his head disapprovingly. "Shame, shame, know your name. Poor Blaine. I'm afraid it's going to be a _long_ afternoon for you now."

Blaine trembles, pleading with his eyes for leniency, mumbling words that trip and fall from his dry tongue and lodge in the folds of the nylon stocking, never to be understood. Kurt smiles.

"Have fun, pet! I'll see you in an hour ... or two …" He slips on his loafers, grabs his keys and his coat. With the sound of Blaine's begging following him, he switches the vibrator to high, tosses the remote on the sofa, and walks out the front door.


	38. Service

**When Kurt's anxiety flares up, Blaine proves that the service a submissive provides can be more than just what he can offer with his body, and that care is a two-way street.**

 _ **Notes: For itallstartedwithharry. Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "judgement". Non-sexual D/s, emotional hurt/comfort, anxiety.**_

"I appreciate you coming with me today, pet. I really do."

And though Kurt says it while in the middle of juggling a dozen other things, a bashful smile crosses Blaine's lips, accompanied by a flush of pink rushing to color his cheeks. His head, which had been bowed in deference (easily passed off as a consequence of the cold wind blowing hard that afternoon), lowers to hide his pride. "Thank you, Sir."

"Now, you're _positive_ that this isn't going to make you late for an appointment with your vocal coach or … or a rehearsal or … or something?"

"Not at all. Today's my afternoon off, Sir. But even if it weren't … uh … you and I would be going to the same place."

Kurt, who has been busy rummaging through his bag for the past twenty minutes, searching frantically for _something_ , looks up and around, as if suddenly remembering where they're both headed. "Oh." He chuckles, followed by an anxious hiccup. "Oh, right. I forgot. And speaking of …" He stops walking to focus on the contents of his bag, which, from the scowl on his face, are unsatisfactory. His scowl flips to a grimace of mild panic. "Oh … oh no! Don't do this to me! _Please_ , don't do this to me!"

"What's wrong, Sir?"

"My folder! My leather folder! It isn't in my bag!"

"Which folder, Sir?"

"That brown one …" Kurt snaps the fingers of his right hand to jar his memory, come up with a better, more accurate description "… with my name embossed along the bottom in gold. It was a present from Isabelle when I started lining up auditions again. It has my …"

"… your sheet music in it, Sir?" Blaine quickly pulls a leather folder from his own messenger bag. He'd noticed it lying on the kitchen table as they raced out the door. He was sure his Master meant to take it, but Kurt was not in the mind space for him to ask at the time. So Blaine slipped it into his bag, just in case.

Kurt looks at it, held out to him by his loyal sub, and his tense body relaxes.

"Yes." He sighs. "That's the one. Thank you, pet."

"You're welcome, Sir."

Blaine watches Kurt slide the folder into his bag, then re-arrange his things, needing every item in precisely the right order. Blaine doesn't stare, but instead looks around to make certain no one else is taking any notice, prepared to decline any offer of assistance should one come their way. Blaine rarely ever sees his Master behave like this. Normally, Kurt is the picture of cool and collected. He's known throughout the fashion world for his icy demeanor, his talent for shutting down an argument with a single steely glare. Calm under pressure behind the scenes at fashion shows or handling last minute snafus with efficiency and grace is one of the foundations his reputation is built on.

The unflappable Kurt Hummel.

But on days like today, Kurt's signature calm is a façade covering a tightly wound spool of anxiety.

Kurt hides his episodes, constantly afraid of someone finding out, afraid of seeing him as lesser, or worse – damaged. The amazing actor that Kurt is, it's not a difficult sell for him to act "normal", even on those days when he's on the verge of pulling his hair out by the roots. But he doesn't hide this side of himself from Blaine. Blaine gets to see his Master during these moments of vulnerability.

And he considers it an honor.

It has also been a valuable learning experience. Blaine has started to let go of caring about how other people see him, to ignore their petty judgments, and to even outright tell people where to go if they can't mind their own business.

The only person he cares about impressing is his Master. Everyone else's opinion is inconsequential.

Today is an important day for Kurt, one that could change the path of his career. Kurt is going to the first audition he's been to since he met Blaine. It was tricky negotiating the finer details, not only because of who Kurt is, but because of who Blaine is becoming, and their connection to one another. With Blaine making more and more of a name for himself in the theater community, Kurt did his hardest to hide any connection he had to him while setting up this meeting.

But he failed.

Actually, _Blaine's agent_ failed, purposefully letting the information slip under the guise of _putting a good word in for Kurt_ , after Blaine specifically asked him not to.

Which is why the man is no longer Blaine's agent.

But the cat's out of the bag, and there's no way to wrestle its furry ass back in. It's not like the directors and producers wouldn't have found out eventually that Kurt and Blaine are dating (even if Kurt submitted his resume under the pseudonym _Sam Evans_ ). Kurt happens to be auditioning for a role in Blaine's own show – _Kinky Boots_. But now, if Kurt gets the part or he doesn't get the part, he won't know if it's because of his talent (or lack thereof), or because of his association with Blaine.

There are no clear-cut predictions for this scenario, and because Kurt can't formulate a possible viable outcome … he's freaking out.

He'd nearly decided not to go at all, but a timely comment by Blaine about how fun it would be to perform opposite one another changed Kurt's mind. (Blaine couldn't let Kurt back out. He knew how much his Master would regret it if he did.)

They start walking again, heading towards the subway, and Blaine falls in step with Kurt. Kurt had told Blaine once that he finds that soothing - the rhythm of them walking side by side, the cadence of their matched steps. That's what Blaine wants Kurt to feel.

 _Soothed_.

But a few feet from the terminal entrance, Blaine sees Kurt put a hand to his forehead, his cheeks draining of all their color.

"Are you alright, Sir?"

"No, I'm not," Kurt says in a hushed voice, trying not to draw anyone's attention. "I'm so frickin' nervous, I barely ate breakfast. I didn't bring a water bottle with me, so now I have a headache. With my luck, my blood sugar's going to drop into my feet, and I'm going to pass out on stage."

"Which is why I brought a juice box, a granola bar, and a PB&J," Blaine says, patting his bag. "Just in case."

Kurt looks at Blaine, his own not-oft seen version of a shy smile making an appearance. "That's very thoughtful of you, pet." Blaine starts down the stairs, but Kurt doesn't join him. He looks over his shoulder, his feet stuttering between going forward and turning back.

Turning back, surprisingly, wins.

"Oh my God …"

"Master?"

"I … I have to go back to the loft."

"What? Why?"

"I didn't … I didn't turn off the stove! Every burner has a pan on it! What if …?"

Blaine puts a gentle arm on the crook of Kurt's elbow. Kurt turns on him, ready to reprimand him right there in public for interrupting him, when Blaine shows his Master a photo on his phone.

"What? What is this?" Kurt snaps, taking Blaine's phone and maneuvering it into better light.

"It's a picture of the stove before we left," Blaine explains. "If you swipe through them, you'll see that the stove is turned off, as well as the oven."

"You took a photo of every burner knob?"

"A-ha. Plus the front door, so you can see it's locked, and all the windows so you know they're closed."

Kurt looks through the photos on Blaine's phone – pictures from this morning of various areas in their loft bleeding into pictures of the two of them together smiling on the subway, cooking in the kitchen, lying in bed with the comforter pulled up to their chests, sweaty and laughing, exhausted from a marathon night of making love to one another, which they were nowhere near done with when that photo was taken. There are no chains or whips or handcuffs in these pictures. As a general rule, Blaine isn't allowed to keep _those_ pictures on his cell phone, no evidence of their "alternative lifestyle". So, these pictures are just examples of two men in love, who appreciate one another.

Who support one another.

Who take care of one another.

It's a concept that Kurt is not used to being on the receiving end of. Too few Dominants and submissives alike remember that service means more than what a pet can offer with their bodies.

And that _care_ is a two-way street.

Of course, service comes so naturally to Blaine.

As does _love_.

Kurt grins. He hands Blaine back his phone.

"I thought it was _my_ job to take care of _you,_ pet," Kurt says, popping Blaine's collar against the wind when it begins to blow, and sounding so much more like the put-together executive that the fashion world knows and loves.

"And you do, Sir. But, I'm here to take care of you, too. Make sure you stay healthy and sane. It's the least I can do."

Kurt tightens Blaine's scarf more snuggly around his pet's neck, then kisses him on the forehead, his hand cradling the back of Blaine's head. Blaine bites his lower lip, waiting until a small collection of commuters bustles by before he speaks again.

"Actually, I wanted to say thank you, Sir."

"For what, pet? It seems like _you're_ the one saving the day."

"For being perfectly imperfect ..." Blaine peeks up at his Master through long eyelashes "… and for giving me the chance to serve you."

Kurt's heart flutters more excitedly by those words than it has by the entirety of his nerve-wracking morning. Leave it to Blaine to erase every anxiety he has and replace it with his own brand of knee-weakening charm – just as lethal, but a bit more familiar.

Easier to manage in a pinch.

"Well, then," Kurt says, with a sassy hair flip that makes Blaine giggle, "you'll be happy to know that I'm currently thinking of a dozen other, more wickedly _fun_ ways for you to serve me the second we get back to our loft."

He puts an arm around Blaine's shoulders and leads him to the subway.

Blaine, with head bowed again, smiles contentedly. "I'm looking forward to it, Master."


	39. Negotiating Limits

**While going through Kurt's checklist of 'limits', Blaine feels overwhelmed, but not just by this.**

 **By the whole of his life right now.**

 _ **Notes: For itallstartedwithharry.**_

 _ **Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt 'limited', and takes place early on in their relationship, close to the very beginning of Blaine moving in with Kurt. And for anyone who asks, yes, they were Dom and sub before Blaine moved in, but their limits were much more casually managed than they would be with Blaine moving in. Hence, the official checklist, which probably not only covers what they do in the playroom, but how they handle things on the day to day.**_

"Hard limit, hard limit, hard limit, hard limit …"

Blaine scans down the checklist, at the many, _many_ boxes he's ticked _hard limit,_ and sighs. Kurt, reading his email on his phone in the seat perpendicular, raises an eyebrow.

"That was a heavy sigh, pet. Is there something wrong?

"No, Sir."

Kurt lifts his eyes from his phone in silent reprimand, and Blaine sighs again at being caught in a lie – a white lie, almost transparent, but still a lie. One of Kurt's first edicts when Blaine moved in was to break him of what Kurt calls 'easy lies' – the types of lies people tell so as not to be a burden to others, such as saying _I'm fine_ when asked the question _How are you?_ because you don't want to reveal that you're sick to your stomach, or that your favorite pet just died and it's tearing you to pieces.

Or because you know that the person asking doesn't really care. They're just being polite, practicing a commonly expected social convention.

Conversational lies.

Convenience lies.

But Kurt isn't just anyone. Kurt is Blaine's Dom, and Blaine's role as Kurt's submissive doesn't make Blaine a burden. They aren't just boyfriends, aren't just lovers. Kurt has taken on the responsibility of caring for Blaine, so those types of lies have no place in their home.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It's just that … when we first talked about this, I was so sure that I was going to mark _yes_ to everything, that I would be open to trying anything, especially the things I know are _green_ for you. But looking at it all, considering it seriously the way you said … I feel so restricted. Limited. I … I feel like an amateur."

"A-ha." Kurt logs out of his email and puts down his phone, ready to give this issue his complete attention. "Something tells me this has more to do with just our limits list, pet. Doesn't it?"

Blaine keeps his eyes trained on the list, on the checked boxes and on the items he has yet to get to, which he knows are going to be a _no_. But his Master is right. This isn't just about this list. Blaine has no reason to be upset over it. They've talked about it many times. Kurt warned him there were things on it that he more than likely wouldn't be ready for. It was a jumping off point, a way for Blaine to not only identify his wants and needs, but also to expose him to the things out there he never realized existed. It was actually kind of exciting reading through it all. Even the things that repulsed him on sight he found he was still mildly curious about.

But Kurt happened to give it to him on a day when real life insecurities were coming to a head, so instead of being this thing he could look forward to digesting slowly and examining rationally, it became the straw on the camel's back.

"I thought that rehearsals for the show were going to be like the audition, Sir. And I did _so well_ in the audition, you know? Everyone there – the casting director, the producer, _Cyndi Lauper_ – they all seemed so impressed with my talent. But now, getting into it, immersing myself in it … it's not the same. I feel like I'm not even in the same universe anymore. This isn't my league." Blaine shakes his head. "How did I even _get_ this part?"

"You got the part because you are amazing, pet! You got it because you were so much better than everyone else, and it showed. You got it because you have an impressive resume – leader of a nationally ranked show choir, lead roles in off-Broadway plays …"

"But, maybe that's where I peaked, Sir," Blaine says, flinching when he realizes he just interrupted his Master. Kurt doesn't call him on it, choosing to let this one slide, but one look in Kurt's eyes tells Blaine that he's gotten this far, he'd better continue. "Maybe those roles were the limits of my talents. Maybe the casting director for _Kinky Boots_ made a mistake when he picked me."

Kurt's brow furrows. He suspects this comment isn't coming from Blaine. Blaine has his moments of self-doubt, but getting this role in _Kinky Boots_ had yet to be one of them. "Why would you even _think_ that?"

"I … I can't help it," Blaine says with a heavy swallow. "Our director, he … he likes to yell. A _lot_."

Kurt frowns. He doesn't like that. Some random douche yelling at _his_ pet? He doesn't like that one bit. Kurt has worked with some pretty temperamental directors in his brief time on the stage, but one that yells from the get-go? Enough to erode his lead actor's self-esteem after only two weeks of rehearsal? That's beyond unprofessional! Kurt has clout in this city. There has to be _something_ he can do about this! And as much as he'd like to press Blaine into telling him the details about this asshole so he can find this man and beat him to a pulp, that isn't a solution to Blaine's problem.

But it would sure as hell feel _incredible_!

Kurt can't run into every situation with sword in hand and fix Blaine's life for him. Blaine is an adult, and Kurt has to have faith that Blaine can handle things on his own. For now, Kurt will just have to add this man to the long list of people in Blaine's life whose head he'd like to hang from his wall and move on.

"Like it or not, pet, life is about limits – recognizing limits, negotiating limits, pushing limits, even accepting limits." Blaine raises a hand to rest his forehead on, but Kurt intercepts it, takes it in his own and holds it – for comfort, and to try to break Blaine of a habit that's going to give him forehead wrinkles in the future if he continues. "And there's nothing wrong with that. Limits are important. They keep us safe. They stop us from making rash and reckless decisions. Acknowledging your limits, especially here with me, is not a weakness. I will never, _ever_ try to force you or manipulate you into going beyond a limit you're not comfortable with. There are some things that are non-negotiable. I have those, too. And we have to live with that. Plus, just because something is a hard limit for you _now_ doesn't mean it'll stay a hard limit forever. Tastes change in BDSM, the same way they change everywhere. For example, when I was in high school, I was good friends with a girl who was _obsessed_ with reindeer sweaters ..." Kurt shudders dramatically. Blaine chuckles. "Luckily, she grew up, went to college, took my advice for once in her damned life, and the sweaters found their way into the Salvation Army donation bin." Kurt tilts his head, gazing at his solemn sub with fond and nostalgic eyes. "You remind me a lot of her, actually."

"Wha-why?" Blaine asks with an endearing look of surprise on his face. "Is it my … do you not like …?" Blaine looks down at the shirt he's wearing – a white button-down with little red lobsters embroidered on it, his own hold-over from high school so it's a bit outdated. But Kurt never said anything about his clothes before …

… even though he's replaced quite a bit of them.

"Not your outfit, pet," Kurt assures him. "I think your lobsters are darling. Your talent. Your ambition. She had both in spades, and so do you. She knew that if you gave her a stage and a spotlight, there wasn't anyone in the world who could outperform her. See, there's a difference, pet, between 'can and can't' and 'will and won't'. When it comes to performing, I firmly believe there isn't anything you _can't_ do, Blaine Devon Anderson, once you put your mind to it. So don't worry about your yelling director, or anyone else who tries to bring you down. He's trying to make you submissive, pet. Compliant. But you only submit to one person, don't you?"

Blaine smiles. "I do, Sir."

"And who's that?"

" _You_ , Sir."

"That's right, pet. In the end, he doesn't matter. You got this role by being the best. So show him you're the best. But don't live up to _his_ expectations. Live up to your own."

"I'll try, Sir," Blaine says, and underneath the table, Kurt stomps his foot loudly against the wood floor. "I mean, I will, Sir! I will! I will! It's just going to take a little practice, pushing that to the side."

"Well, maybe you should try approaching him from a different angle, put on a different face when you walk through the door. This schoolboy charm you have is adorable …" Kurt runs a hand through Blaine's curls, combing them through his fingers, watching them coil back to Blaine's head when they break free "… and _hot_ … but maybe it gives certain people the wrong impression."

"Can you help me with that, Sir?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Blaine turns the list towards his Master and points to an item, one of the few in a sea of hard limits that he's marked _soft_ \- interrogation.

Kurt looks at his handsome submissive, still with sad, puppy-dog eyes, but an enticing flush of red in his cheeks, and a subtle smile that's both breathtakingly innocent and bewitching. Kurt imagines throwing a hood over that handsome face of his; tying him to a hard, wooden, chair; positioning him under bright, hot lights; and putting him through his paces very, _very_ slowly. _Excruciatingly_ slow. Kurt grins. If Blaine can withstand _that_ , then rehearsal tomorrow should be a piece of cake.

"Finish this up, and then … it would be my pleasure."


	40. Inherent

**Blaine wakes up one morning to Kurt's mouth on his cock, which, while a wonderful way to wake, fills Blaine with some confusion over their roles as pet and Master.**

 _ **Notes:**_ _ **Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "talk" and illustrates one of my biggest pet peeves in D/s writing. Takes place early on in their relationship.**_

"Mmm … aahh … g-gaahh …"

Blaine's eyelids twitch, his breathing quickens, his hands roam, restless in their search to find the source of the immense pleasure building deep within his body, one which his sleepy brain isn't quick to locate nor identify …

… because he doesn't want it to go away any time soon.

"That's it," a detached voice urges, as if from somewhere inside his dreams. "That's my boy …"

Blaine blinks his eyes open. Thin shafts of sunlight poke through cracks between the blackout curtains, throwing a gold cast across the dark room, highlighting a mist of suspended motes as they somersault through the air. From what he can see, he's alone. But he doesn't _feel_ alone. The source of the phantom pleasure, he begins to realize, lies just beneath the blankets, from a figure settled between his legs, its fingers winding over his thighs like persistent vines, a mouth of intense heat surrounding his cock. Blaine lifts the blanket, and a whoosh of cool air races across his skin as it lays siege to the warmth.

"M-Master …"

"Don't talk, pet," he hears Kurt pant. "Just moan for me." His Master goes back to his task, sucking Blaine in inch by inch until his nose meets the curls at the junction of Blaine's thighs. He isn't rushing to the finish; he's taking his time, stopping at every fraction for a leisurely lick, just long enough to feel Blaine's cock throb. Kurt had been sucking him so softly and so slowly, Blaine hadn't even known it until he was close to cumming.

That's what woke him up.

Whether or not Kurt had meant for Blaine to wake is another facet entirely.

But now that he's awake, concerns about their relationship begin to intrude, dulling some of the sensation that's been nudging him closer and closer to climax.

Getting a blow from Kurt is a magical thing – like walking down Fifth Avenue, turning a corner, and finding a unicorn. When they were first dating, having Kurt perform oral on him wasn't something Blaine thought too much about. It was a part of their sex life; it didn't mean anything more. But as things gradually began to change, and Blaine entered into this arrangement that allowed his submissive side to emerge, oral became an action he felt inherently submissive. It involves setting yourself below someone else, giving them pleasure without getting pleasure in return … although Blaine has always enjoyed giving bj's. To be honest, the act fills him with an indescribable sense of power, a surge of control. Receiving oral pleasure is to put yourself into a vulnerable position. The person between your legs holds your completion between their tongue and teeth. Being that person exhilarated him.

Is that what Kurt gets from it? Is it another way for him to feel in control?

Blaine wants to find out. He thinks he tries to ask, which is why Kurt reaches up his chest, pinches one of his nipples, and scolds: "Don't talk. Not one word."

"W-wouldn't … wouldn't you rather if I ...?"

"No," Kurt says sharply, giving him another pinch. "You feel _this,_ pet?" He gives Blaine's cock another long suck – more utilitarian than pleasurable. " _This_ is mine. It belongs to _me_. And I'll take it _how_ I want it, _when_ I want it. If I stick it in my mouth, if I ride it, if I cane it, if I lock it in a cage, it doesn't matter. _I_ decide. Do you understand, pet?"

"Yes, Master. I think … I think I do," Blaine says, swallowing what remains of his confusion. It's not the _action_ that's Dominant or submissive; it's the intent behind it. And if Kurt chooses this as a way of claiming what's his, then it's a form of domination.

It may just be Blaine's favorite.

"Good," Kurt says, blowing a thin stream of cool air on Blaine's cock, smiling when it stirs. "Now … don't talk."


	41. Private Performance

**After Kurt finds a newspaper clipping among Blaine's belongings, praising him for his performance in Hedwig, Kurt decides to do something to keep his little pet grounded.**

" _I've got a sweet tooth_

 _For licorice drops and jelly roll …_ "

 _Swack_!

"Mmph!" Blaine grunts between lips bitten tight, fighting to keep his reaction hidden, to continue with the flow of the song, especially considering he can't stop between lyrics.

He's the one singing.

" _Hey S-sugar D-daddy_ … mmph!"

"Keep it up, pet. Keep it up. No dropping words or that will be twelve more lashes with the belt."

" _Hansel needs some sugar in his bowl_ …"

 _Swack_!

"Ah! _I'll lay out fine china on the linen_

 _And polish up the chrome_ …"

Kurt snaps his belt and whips Blaine again, over a welt on his buttock that's three swats away from splitting. And even though Blaine hops to the right out of rhythm, perched on the balls of his feet by the rope pulling his wrists above his head, he doesn't miss a beat.

" _If you've got some sugar for me_

 _S-sugar D-daddy bring it home_ …"

Kurt would normally grab Blaine's hips, right over that angry red stripe, and put him back in place, but for the purposes of this particular scene, dancing is allowed.

It's even encouraged.

Kurt hadn't explained this session to Blaine before they'd gotten started. It was spontaneous, prompted on the fly by a newspaper clipping Kurt found among Blaine's sheet music – a gushing review of Blaine's opening night performance as Hedwig. Blaine didn't clip it for himself. It was gifted to him by the producer. (A Post-It fixed to the top corner told Kurt so.) Kurt wasn't angry at Blaine for having it. He doesn't begrudge Blaine trophies of his success. In fact, Kurt has plans for the two of them to sit down and scrapbook this milestone in his life – one of many.

Blaine is a humble man. He doesn't suffer the sin of pride as extensively as other actors and performers that Kurt has met. But Blaine does tend to get overwhelmed by attention – negative and positive. There will be more reviews, people who will call him a rising star, the next _it_ boy, _a multi-faceted and charismatic talent the likes of which Broadway rarely sees_ (direct quote). They'll lavish praise on him, and that praise will go to his head.

It won't inflate it. It'll fill with him anxiety, the need to keep up, the desire to please …

… the fear of failing.

This scene is meant to ground Blaine, remind him what's important. No matter what people outside their circle say, whether they call him a star or a flop, the most important things he has are the things he called his own _before_ he became a star.

His talent, his family, and his Master's love.

And the success he's already achieved? No one can ever take that away from him.

"People travel from all over to see you perform, pet," Kurt says over Blaine's singing and the crack of his leather belt. "They pay hundreds of dollars simply to sit within ten feet of you, for the honor of possibly getting kissed by you. But at the end of the day, you come home to _me_. I get your hands, your body, and your pretty little mouth." Kurt smacks Blaine on the rump so hard he practically leaps into the air. Kurt watches him land nimbly while managing to keep his eyes lowered and his voice perfectly on pitch. Kurt grins. _A multi-faceted talent indeed._ "And you dance for _me_ whenever I want."


	42. Unsettling

**Kurt wants to reward Blaine with a vanilla dinner, like the ones they went on before they moved in together. But they discover that sometimes the things they enjoyed during their old dynamic don't translate well to their current one.**

"How are you enjoying the wine? It pairs well with your salmon, don't you think?"

Blaine looks up from his dish, eyebrows rising slowly at the question his Dom posed.

"Uh … I …" Blaine looks around him, at a loss for an opinion on the wine considering everything else going on … or, more specifically, _not_ going on "… I think it's excellent as always, Sir."

"I'm glad. I want you to enjoy your meal. You deserve it after the performance you gave last night. Truly spectacular."

"I … thank you … Sir?"

Kurt nods, a sincere smile lifting his lips as he returns his attention to his Mediterranean salad. Blaine watches Kurt eat, waiting to see if he'll ask anything else of him … anything more in keeping with their usual evenings out. But aside from a request to pass the pepper, Kurt has done nothing on par. He let Blaine order his own meal (without a single cayenne pepper in sight). He hasn't dropped his fork for Blaine to pick up, or untied his shoelace for Blaine to tie. He didn't force Blaine into chastity before they left, or bind him in a harness underneath his shirt.

He even asked Blaine if he wanted to order dessert.

Blaine doesn't mind making these kinds of decisions. They don't stress him out. It's just not often that he gets to.

He doesn't understand why tonight.

"Sir" - Blaine swallows hard - "may I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Kurt says, reorganizing the contents of his plate to compose the perfect bite on the tines of his fork. "Anything you want. Ask away."

"I … have I done something wrong, Sir?"

"Not a thing." Kurt slices a portion of his lamb and holds it out to Blaine on the blade of his knife. When Blaine realizes that Kurt is asking him silently if he wants it, he nods, and Kurt slides it onto the side of Blaine's plate. "In fact, you've gone above and beyond. You've been working so hard with the musical while managing to be obedient as ever at home. So, I thought I would reward you."

"Reward me, Sir?" Blaine takes another look at his dinner – salmon Alfredo that he himself chose. It wouldn't have been the meal Kurt would have chosen for him, Blaine knows. Unlike their usual haunts, this restaurant in particular tends to be heavy handed with the cream and butter. But Kurt didn't flinch when Blaine said he wanted it. "This is a reward?"

"Of course. A nice, vanilla dinner. Like the ones we used to have when we first started dating. Remember them?"

"I do, Sir?"

"Do you remember when you said you missed them?" Kurt asks. Blaine's breathing catches, but there's no edge in his Dom's voice. Kurt wasn't upset by that remark, and he's not trying to make a point. He wanted to do something for Blaine, something he thought Blaine would like, and this is what he chose. Blaine is touched. He really is. Except …

"I do, Sir. And I'm so humbled that you remembered. But, I have to admit, vanilla dining with you … it's a little unsettling."

Kurt examines Blaine's face over the rim of his wine glass, and for a second, Blaine is afraid he may have offended him. But Kurt values honesty. He always says _be honest first, kind second, and respectful always._ That doesn't mean Kurt will always like what Blaine has to say, but communication is key, whether he likes the outcome or not. Kurt puts his glass down, following it with a thoughtful gaze, then picks up his napkin to wipe his mouth.

"Agreed," Kurt says. "I'm not used to this. Not with you. It feels so … lacking."

Blaine sighs in relief. "I'd say that's a good word for it, Sir."

"So what should we do, pet? Hmm? Do we finish this dinner the way it stands, or do we fix it, so to speak?"

"I say whatever you think is best, Sir, that's what we should do."

That, of course, was the right answer.

It barely takes a second for Kurt to decide.

"Give me your underwear, pet," Kurt commands without lowering his voice.

Blaine tries to remain impassive in his response, but he can't help a tiny smile slipping with the excitement kick-starting his heart.

"Yes, Sir," he says, putting down his napkin and preparing to leave his seat. But Kurt grabs his wrist before he can stand.

"No no no, pet," he says, flashing that devilish grin that makes Blaine's stomach sick in all the best ways. "Right here."

"H-here?" Blaine glances left and right, at the crowd of couples and families who chose tonight to have dinner out. It's nine o'clock, and the dining room is so packed, there's a line forming at the maître d's station. "A-at the table, Sir?"

"A-ha."

Blaine glances around again, and then once down at the fly to his slacks. "H-how, Sir?"

Kurt's grin grows wider as he raises his fork, carrying another impeccably organized bite, to his lips. "Figure it out."


	43. Little Pig, Little Pig

**After several sleepless nights, Kurt comes up with a scene he can't wait to try with his pet.**

 **So, he doesn't wait.**

 _ **Notes:** **I heard about Burt Reynolds passing away, and this sort of came to be. That's all I have to say about it. Warning for bondage, insomnia, humiliation, sleep deprivation, clothespins, and Viagra use.**_

"This little piggy went to the market …" Kurt recites, attaching one small, wooden clothespin carefully to the skin of Blaine's perineum. It's not a perfect fit. It bites into the barest fold of skin more than it holds.

But as long as it stays in place, the rest is Blaine's problem.

"This little piggy stayed home …" He continues, attaching a second clothespin to Blaine's scrotum.

"This little piggy had roast beef …" Kurt stops short before he clips that one on, the distance between Kurt's fingertips and Blaine's testicles making Blaine's short hairs prickle. "You know, I find that line highly questionable," he muses, tapping his finger to his chin, prolonging the tension through contrived contemplation. "It doesn't simply imply that a pig is an omnivore, which we know they are, but that he would make the conscious decision to go to the supermarket and buy dead cow flesh to consume. I mean, pigs and cows are friends, aren't they? They get along. They wouldn't have any beef with one another." Kurt clips the pin to Blaine's sack and chuckles. "Beef? Get it, pet? Beef? Ha … I kill me."

Kurt doesn't look at Blaine's face. There's no need. He knows how his pet looks. Kurt had strapped a latex pig nose to Blaine's face, hence the obnoxious children's poem. Struggling with insomnia for the past few nights, Kurt was inspired by an early morning airing of _Deliverance_ on AMC to change his little pup into a piglet for this session.

Then he woke Blaine up from a dead sleep so they could act it out.

Blaine's eyes are red and watering from lack of sleep, his hair a frizzy mess, a sock tied tightly over his mouth as a gag. Kurt heard him sniffling before, Blaine's nose running down his upper lip, stopped by the cotton gag, but that's apparently over now.

Now that the initial fear has slipped away and acceptance has begun to take hold.

The fear happens every time Kurt comes up with a new scene, but it didn't last long, and Kurt is proud at how quickly, through exposure and practice, Blaine has begun to get over obstacles like fear and anxiety.

"This little piggy had none. Smart piggy. He's obviously on a plant-based diet …" Kurt mumbles as he adds two more clips, this time to the skin at the base of Blaine's flaccid cock. "And these little piggies cried wee-wee-wee … all the way down your wee-wee." Kurt snorts at his own joke while he clips around half a dozen clothespins to Blaine's foreskin. It's not easy, and they crowd one another, but Kurt manages to fit them all on, each latched on to a decent pinch of skin. "There we go." Kurt stands back to see how Blaine looks. The clothespins on his cock and balls aren't the only ones attached to his body. There are rows of them running from the backs of his arms (exposed by having his hands tied at the wrists and secured above his head), and down his chest so that they take a path that includes his nipples. It was difficult for Kurt to affix some of them seeing as Blaine has nearly no body fat, but he managed. He also warned his pet not to move or breathe in too deeply. For each one that pops off, he'll get ten lashes (the location of which have yet to be determined). Between his chest, his face, his inner thighs, and his groin, there are over five dozen clothespins connected to his body, each tied to a length of twine that Kurt has attached somewhere Blaine can't see without moving his head.

But if he moves his head, clothespins will come off.

"And they need to stay in place," Kurt warns, flicking the one on Blaine's left nipple. "So you'd better stay still, pet."

That's not a problem. Blaine is used to standing still in uncomfortable positions. Kurt's dollification training has made stillness second nature to Blaine.

But it's not in Kurt's nature to let things be easy for him.

"I don't particularly like complicated set-ups," Kurt says, undressing in front of his sub purposefully to get a reaction. "I like to keep things simple – some rope, a pair of old socks, a roll of tape, a few things from the kitchen. But I'm actually pretty proud of this one." Kurt runs his hands over each section of skin as he exposes it – tugging, toying, rolling his fingertips over his nipples till they harden, stripping in an erotic dance he knows Blaine will like.

And Blaine's cock bobs the way Kurt had planned, his skin pulling a bit, but the clips stay on.

"I know you can't see it, pet, but this piece of twine is tied to other pieces of twine attached to all sort of consequential devices." Kurt runs a light finger over the length of the twine, the slight vibrations making one or two of the clips tickle. "If you move too much one way …" Kurt plucks the twine "… _pop_! There go some clips. Move too much another way – _pop_! There go a few more clips. You get the idea."

Kurt sees the flutter in Blaine's eyes as he strains not to look, not to scan the room to find where the twine is tied. But as Kurt was setting up, after he'd tied Blaine's arms above his head but before he began clipping clothespins to his body, Blaine thought he saw Kurt tying twine around the room – to books on a nearby shelf, around an old bowling ball that he then propped on a stool, even to the collar of their cat Brian, asleep on the bed.

 _Kurt's mind has been working overtime,_ Blaine thinks. _No wonder he can't sleep_.

Kurt walks underneath the twine, coming dangerously close to bumping it with his head, and positions himself behind his sub. He puts hands on his pet's hips and pulls him back a hair till Blaine feels the clothespins tug, hears the distant slide of something in the room moving an inch closer to his impending doom. Kurt's hands move up and down Blaine's body, weaving their way over sensitive spots, spots that make Blaine jerk and squirm, strumming the clothespins like guitar strings when he comes across them.

"I'm going to fuck you, pet," Kurt whispers. "And I expect you to stay perfectly still. Completely quiet. No squealing, little piggy. Let's see how many of those clips you have left when we're through." Kurt starts teasing Blaine's hole with his cock, slick with spit and a lube that warms on contact, stretching him open with shallow thrusts. "And just so you know, I took the liberty of dropping a little blue appetizer before I got you out of bed." Kurt chuckles. It's sinister. Spine chilling. The kind of chilling that makes Blaine yearn for more and more and more. "So this might take a while."


	44. Boxing Blaine

**When Blaine suffers an extreme anxiety attack, he needs an extreme solution to set himself right again.**

 _ **Warnings for isolation, bondage, and anxiety.**_

 _Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ …

 _Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ …

The sound of sand pouring around Blaine's body is like a long, soothing hush.

 _Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ …

 _Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ …

It fills his ears, then his head, and slowly, like a well-worn eraser on a pencil too short to be sharpened any further, eliminates the snide remarks, the backhanded compliments, the jokes at his expense, and, most importantly, his own fatalistic thoughts.

Blaine isn't exactly sure where Kurt gets the sand from. He doesn't buy it from the Home Depot as far as he knows. It's coarser than beach sand, and doesn't smell like sea water. But it retains heat like the sand at the beach, absorbing it then redirecting it, transforming Blaine from shrunken and shivering in his own tense frame to relaxed, cozy and comfortable. It acts almost like his weighted blanket, but the overall effect is different. It builds. Instead of having ten, fifteen, twenty-five pounds rest on him all at once, it presses down on his gradually.

One shovel full at a time until he's engulfed in calm.

It's not like having Kurt's weight on top of him, Kurt's warmth surrounding him, but it's still comforting.

The darkness of the box he's curled inside of, the weight of the sand, it doesn't just bury _him_. It buries the voices that collect in his head, buzzing like flies drunk on honey. It buries his self-doubt in a place he can project on to so that it doesn't plant seeds inside him, grow slowly and consume him. It buries his physical form so that how he looks, what he wears, how much he weighs, how built he's become just doesn't matter anymore.

His successes and his failures get buried with him inside that box. When he comes out, he'll get to decide which he wants to leave behind and move on from there.

With the help of his Dom, who is always there to help guide him.

When Blaine got home that evening, everything was wrong. His job was wrong, his clothes were wrong, the city was wrong, his dreams were wrong.

But his brother, who had dropped in out of the blue, was the most wrong.

Blaine usually needs a week's notice before Cooper shows up to get in the right mindset to deal with him. Having the man thrust himself upon Blaine with no warning gave Blaine the mother of all migraines. Now everything is too bright, too loud, too sharp, too open, too much.

And Blaine can't handle it.

Even after a spanking, one of the most cathartic techniques is Kurt's arsenal, Blaine remained antsy.

Unsettled.

When Kurt had asked his pet what he thought would help him, Blaine had answered, "Soft, dark, quiet … alone."

Blaine rarely ever asks to be alone. He actually seems allergic to the concept. But this time he needed a reset – one he couldn't find on his knees.

He needed to hide, disappear, somewhere where his critics, his bullies, and Cooper could not find him.

The box Blaine is confined in was a present from Kurt – one in a series of attempts at helping Blaine push his boundaries. There are many such boxes positioned across their loft, covered in table cloths or throws, performing double duties as coffee tables and ottomans as a way to maximize their space. But this box is also a tool to help Blaine with his anxiety. When Blaine had his first major attack while they were dating and spoke about it with Kurt, he used words like open and big and lost and flailing to get his point across. Kurt concluded that Blaine needed to make his problems smaller than himself, and thus more manageable than he perceived them to be. He needed to restrict his thinking to the basics – yes and no, light and dark, good and bad; the building blocks we learn as children, and move on from there.

So, in essence, this box is like a womb.

Blaine retreats to it when he needs to start over in extreme ways.

He can't wear much when he's inside it – just a t-shirt and briefs. It forces him into the fetal position. It muffles most external sounds.

It's where he comes to terms with himself before he can join the world again.

Of course, Kurt had it outfitted with a small speaker for sound and a tiny light in the corner, in case those things were required. But Blaine requested no light, no music, no white noise, no sound at all. He wanted to reconnect with himself.

Blaine undressed and Kurt cemented their plan. He wrote out an addendum and Blaine signed it. Kurt said his good-bye with a kiss before Blaine climbed in, hands bound at the wrists in front of his belly, and Kurt began shoveling in the sand. He packed Blaine in, keeping the sand away from Blaine's nose and mouth with the help of a partition. If Blaine remains completely still, no sand should spill over.

Three hours. Three hours in the box and the sand with total silence, and _only_ three hours. After three hours, Kurt would come get him. That was the rule. After that, they would sit down and talk, come up with a permanent solution. But if Blaine needs him, all he has do is press the buzzer in his hand and Kurt would come running. Plugs in the side of the box, running alongside ventilation holes, would be pulled, and the sand would release, faster than Kurt digging Blaine out by hand. And even though Kurt mentioned being busy and having work to do, he'll sit on their bed nearby in silence himself, in case that buzzer goes off.


End file.
